Holiday
by musicbendr
Summary: A continuation of "Lonely Table, Empty Heart" based around specific holidays. Quinn/Rachel. Halloween is done; Veterans' Day is next.
1. Halloween Part I

**A/N: This is continued from "Lonely Table, Empty Heart." It will take place only on holidays, which basically means there will be a little one or two shot for each holiday from Halloween until whenever I feel like stopping. **

It's only day 26, but Rachel feels comfortable enough to ask Quinn if she's doing something for Halloween. Her fathers have always called Halloween the most romantic night of the year and have been disappointed for the past two years when Rachel decided she was too old to go trick-or-treating and they couldn't have their annual horror movie marathon. This year, however, Rachel actually has a "someone special" to spend Halloween with and wishes to test her dads' theory that it can be a ridiculously romantic holiday.

Lunch is cold on day 26, Friday, October 30th, but that doesn't deter Quinn and Rachel from their now comfortable and daily routine. Whatever they are, whatever they've become since that first kiss and date at the bowling alley on day twelve doesn't really seem to matter since neither of them is close to anyone else. It's almost guaranteed that they can be loyal to each other without actually having to establish a proper term for their existence together. But that all changes when right in the middle of the period, when Rachel's munching on her half-frozen grapes and Quinn's popping M'n'M's like some people pop pills, Finn comes out the door and bursts their little bubble and wrecks their little paradise. It's been a nice break, not having to deal with people and stares throughout the hallways. Now, they simply encounter the occasional Slurpee in their faces but the entire Glee Club gets that now, except for Santana and Brittany because they still have their Cheerios uniforms and Matt and Mike because most of the football team doesn't even realize that they're in the club. And like Mr. Schue told Quinn, she _does_ have eleven friends to get that icky substance out of her hair every time that frigid drink splatters against her face- well, technically she has ten friends and one girlfriend type person to help her. Quinn has taken to keeping an extra set of clothing in her locker and wearing a raincoat around school until things settle down. What's worse is that though Finn joined their side (at the _very_ last minute, she might add) he still doesn't look nearly as sympathetic as everyone else when she gets pummeled in the face with an icy beverage. Even Puck has wiped her face off a couple of times, and he's been acting just about as awkward as a monkey in a clown suit around her ever since he figured out that Quinn and Finn had broken up, his "lil' Puck" being the reason behind it.

So that's why it's shocking to both girls when Finn comes out in his sky blue-and-brown beanie and royal purple sweater, which is most certainly not enough to combat the cold. He slides onto the bench of the table and wipes the smiles off both girls' faces. With a slight twitch of her nose in disgust, Quinn's eyes drift between her ex-boyfriend's horrible ability to match his hat with his shirt and her current girlfriend-type-person's clear blindness to the hideous qualities of argyle, and she wonders why she's predominantly attracted to people with horrible fashion sense. It also occurs to her that she should be more focused on the situation at hand because Finn's mouth is moving, but all she can hear is Rachel's hurried breathing beside her. This is the breathing Rachel does whenever she gets angry, a style of breathing that Quinn knows very well because they've had their fair share of fighting in the past twenty-six days but that was to be expected; people don't just go from near-mortal enemies to almost, sort of girlfriends without a couple of bumps.

"... so that's really why I came over here," Finn is saying while Rachel listens intently and Quinn's head is off in the clouds. She brings it down to earth to hear the important part. "I'm really sorry for acting up like that, Quinn, and that kind of makes me a really big jerk. If it makes you feel any better, I went and punched Puck in the face after football practice. He kind of guessed what happened."

Quinn smirks slightly at this, picturing that useless asshole with blood all over his face and his nose a bit off-center. "It does make me feel a little better."

The hulking boy sitting across from them adjusts nervously in his seat, reverting back to his usual awkward self. "And thanks, Rachel. I mean, I'm kind of thick when it comes to this kind of stuff, but I can see that you guys are really great friends now and you've been helping Quinn out a lot. Puck's not going to be there to do it, and I don't know if I'd be any help, but Rachel seems to know what she's doing."

Finn's words inadvertently push a happy grin onto both girls' faces and Rachel moves to interlace their hands under the table. Quinn tries not to glow too much but it's hard not to feel the warmth under the cold winter sun. "Yeah; she really does." She hesitates, wishing to say something that she's not sure she's ready to voice aloud. It might sound almost horrible to both Finn and Rachel's ears even though it's _true_ and she doesn't want Finn to be offended after he's been so nice, but she can't _not_ tell him. Leaving him in the dark again would be just horribly unfair. "Finn?"  
"What?" With his response and him staring right back at her, it's almost as if Rachel's not there anymore. Quinn feels her chest tighten at the sight of Finn acting like she's the only girl in the world again, but it's not enough to make her want him back.

She sighs, head in the hand not clutching tightly to Rachel's own. The singer is baffled by Quinn's sudden change in attitude and senses that she requires support for whatever it is she's about to do. "I should be thanking you, Finn."

"For what?" It's not shocking that Finn's confused by this statement since he tends to be confused about a lot of things. Rachel, who is usually fairly perceptive, has no idea what's going.

"I don't mean to tell you this in a horrible way- or to sound awful, because I'm not like that anymore- but I think breaking up with me was the best thing you could've done for both of us." To say that sentence sounds terrible; Quinn cringes as the words leave her lips and spin through Finn's ears, and Rachel doesn't react because it's not her place to intervene. Her job is to pick up the pieces.

Finn is understandably outraged at this statement but to his credit he keeps his anger in check. "I don't get it."

"We never really clicked, Finn, and don't say you didn't notice that."

A glance is stolen in Rachel's direction by the boy in question, wondering if they should be discussing something so personal in front of a girl who is so uninvolved in it. But then again, he supposes that Rachel really is woven into their lives in an irreversible way and any words they exchange with each other will probably be repeated to her anyway. "OK, so maybe we didn't. But why is that so bad?"  
"It's unfair to both of us, don't you think?" Quinn lifts her eyes to stare straight into his puppy dog brown ones. "You and I as a couple... it was expected almost, like we were supposed to be together."

He's still bewildered by this information as though the social hierarchy of high school has escaped him until Quinn pointed it out. "So you're saying you didn't really like me?"

"I really liked the _idea_ of you, Finn. And you are sweet and a great guy, but you're just not for me."

"Didn't we already break up? It sounds like you're doing it again."

"I'm trying to explain to you why it's a good thing we're over."

"You don't have to convince me."

"Maybe I have to convince myself- maybe I need to say it out loud for it to make sense."

Rachel and Finn both listen to her talk in silence because this isn't really for their benefits.

"You are the perfect boy, Finn. You're exactly the type of boy my parents want me to be with and the type of man candy the school excepts to see hanging off my arm in the hallway. You're great for going to the average dating sites and doing the things most couples do. But me... I'm not. I think I only got sucked into this because I love cheerleading, and maybe Coach Sylvester warped me in some way, but this isn't me, Finn. It's just not me." Quinn looks about to cry, and she probably should because she just admitted to herself that the past five years of her life have been a lie. Ever since she went to Sue's Go Big or Go Home Cheerleader Training Camp in sixth grade, Quinn Fabray has been kicked to the curb and a manipulative monster has taken her place. It's time to get back to herself, she thinks, and admitting that is the perfect place to start.

Rachel squeezes her hand harder under the moldy wood of their cold table, nearly bursting with pride at how well Quinn is handling this entire situation. Maybe now they'll finally make some headway in deciding where their relationship is going. Responding politely to this statement throws Finn off and he can't quite do it, so he settles for, "Look, Puck's having a Halloween party tomorrow- not a costume party- at his house and he's letting me invite whoever, so it would be cool if you guys could come..." He trails off awkwardly but the meaning of the gesture is clear and both girls feel as though it would be rude to decline.

"Yeah, we'll definitely be there," Rachel assures him.

"Cool." Finn smiles and stands up from the table, hands in his pocket and an odd looking gracing his eyes. "You know there's room for you at our table inside, if you want. For both of you."

Quinn and Rachel don't even need to have another one of those weird telepathic conversations they've been having all throughout the period (Finn's been watching and not understanding) to know the answer to that question. "We're good out here," Quinn says. "But thanks for asking." He leaves with a little wave and they both watch as he shuffles through the leaves at an agonizingly slow pace until he rips open the glass door, letting it close with just too much force. It is only after they hear that slam of the door that the girls trust their voices again.

In her defense, Quinn desperately wants to ask Rachel the serious questions, to find out what's going with them and to know where it's heading. But she can't because she's already too close to tears from the encounter with Finn. What should be an intense conversation starter turns into, "So what are you going to wear?"

Obviously, Rachel is unprepared for this change in tact. She takes it in stride, however, like she does with everything else in her life. "Wear to what?"

"Puck's party," she replies as though Rachel shouldn't even need to ask that question.

"We have more important things to talk-"

"Not yet." Shivers plague Quinn's extremities and they're not entirely from the cold. "Rachel, I don't want to have to deal with people staring at me. I'm already _pregnant_ for gosh sakes- I don't need to be a lesbian now, too." The words are harsher than intended and Quinn has fallen back into old habits. "I'm sorry. I-"

"It's OK." There are tears shining brightly in Rachel's eyes, but Quinn can tell that her heart is in those words and that she doesn't have anything to worry about. "My dads know, though; they love you and think we're adorable together."

"Really?" Quinn knows that her parents won't support this union, so it's nice to know that she'll have somewhere to run when everything goes to shit the minute she tells them.

The brunette nods vehemently and gently puts her arm around Quinn's slowly growing waist. The touch is careful, practiced, light; there's a test of the newly established boundaries and it seems as though this level is alright, seeing as how the cheerleader leans into her new friend. Rachel doesn't understand how gripping another girl's waist could scream anything but "lesbian," though she'll keep her mouth shut because she likes the feeling of Quinn's slim waist under her dainty fingers and the cheerleader's cotton sweatshirt that's riding up just a little bit.

Maybe someday, Rachel thinks as the sun sprays its blinding rays into her squinting brown eyes, Quinn will understand that it doesn't matter what other people think. And judging by what she said to Finn, she's getting there.


	2. Halloween Part II

Quinn comes over at exactly three o'clock the next day and not a second later, just like they'd planned over their texting conversation that ran into the early hours of Halloween morning. She tells herself that she's only here directly at three because she doesn't want to get caught in the traffic sure to be slowed on the streets soaked in the chilly rain, but she knows that's a lie. Admitting to herself that she likes to kiss Rachel and hug Rachel and touch Rachel is a lot easier than admitting to herself that she actually _likes_ Rachel in that way. It really shouldn't make much of a difference but for some reason involving her emotions complicates her logic.

That silly doorbell ring makes Quinn smile like it always does and she's even learned the words by now well enough to sing along to the ding-dong notes echoing through the house. James comes to the door this time, as he usually does. He's dressed in a lime green apron with splatters of what looks like brownie and cake batter all over it and a huge smile on his face. "Quinn! Come on in; we're making a feast."

"I can see that," she grins, genuinely excited to be in the Berry home. Even though the colors and fabrics and textures that make up the household are no more outlandish than the ones inside her own, the people that occupy it fill Quinn with happiness whenever she enters, often accompanied by a sense of mischievousness most likely picked up from James.

"We decided to throw a party for some of our friends, since Rachel will be out of the house until late," James explains to Quinn as they walk into the kitchen. "That means lots of cooking for us, although my _lovely husband_ won't let me touch anything more complicated than make-'em-from-the-box brownies." He says this loud enough for Danny to hear and give him a firm glare that James remedies with quick squeeze to his waist. Quinn doesn't think that she's ever seen anyone's parents act so utterly adorable together.

And then she notices Rachel and all thoughts of her dads go out the window. The normally prim and proper girl has taken off her bulky sweater (Quinn sees it resting on the counter and slightly stained by powdered sugar) and is wearing just the white button-down she normally has on underneath. But when Rachel turns around to _face_ Quinn she notices that Rachel's shirt is open and all she has on underneath is a skin tight black tank top that makes Quinn blush because all she wants to do is rip it right off. She takes a moment to note how this is ironic but then her brain kind of melts for a half a second when Rachel smiles at her.

"Quinn!" she squeals. All manner of baking supplies are carelessly dropped on the counter as Rachel hurries over to rush at the blonde, nearly knocking her over with the force of her hug. Rachel's back is to her dads but Quinn can see the smug smiles on their faces when their daughter clutches tightly at her back. It's almost embarrassing enough for her to pull away. _Almost_.

"I'm sorry I'm a bit preoccupied with helping Dad and Daddy bake and-"

"Just tell me what to do." Quinn's already washing her hands in a kitchen sink loaded with pots and pans covered in bits of uncooked food, the finished product of which covers their kitchen island in a menagerie of colors and flavors.

Danny reaches down into the drawer in front of him and pulls out a very large knife, which kind of scares Quinn for a moment. "You can help Rachel with the souffle. We need some of the peppers cut up."

"What he means to say is 'Thank you,'" James amends as Quinn gets to work on the peppers he's set in front of her.

Rachel nudges her socially challenged father and says, "Dad never learned the proper people skills in college when everyone else was figuring them out."

Danny just sighs and returns to kneading the ball of dough spread out in front of him. "I _should_ be thanking Quinn for being so nice, since my own husband and daughter clearly hate me." Rachel and James share a look and then proceed to each kiss one of Danny's slightly rugged cheeks. Quinn looks on as pieces of pepper fly beneath her knife, happiness and jealousy both bubbling up in the pit of her stomach. It's during these moments, when she bears witness to Berry family bliss, that absolutely despises Nana and the way she wrecked Quinn's life, her mother's life, her father's life.

Rachel's warm lips against her cheek pulls her out of this hate-fest towards her grandmother, and immediately a blush rises in her normally pale face. "I didn't want you to feel left out, since Dad got a kiss," Rachel is explaining, but all Quinn can focus on is how she was just kissed (on the cheek, but still) in front of Rachel's parents without causing them to have a conniption. She doesn't know what that really means for the grand scheme of their relationship, though it clearly signifies that here, within these walls, they can be themselves and not be judged. It strikes Quinn as odd that this is the first time outside of the confines of her room that she feels safe enough to be free.

And to test the waters, she scoots over closer to Rachel, says to her, "Now it wouldn't be fair to leave you out either." Her strong words mask the hesitancy of her cautious actions, and she knows that James and Danny can't see how much effort it takes for her to place a quick peck on Rachel's cheek. Rachel knows, though, and she rewards Quinn's bravery with a knowing smile. It's the best reward the previously straight-and-narrow cheerleader could've hoped for.

That, and the much too loud "Aw!" from James' mouth.

Rachel has always found Quinn to be insanely pretty but when she sees her all glammed up for Puck's Halloween party, she cannot understand why anyone would give the male half of the species more than a passing glance. Her golden hair is down, curled a little and bouncing and glowing as Quinn steps out of Rachel's bathroom after doing a quick change. A subtle foundation of make-up has been applied but nothing that really distracts from the blonde's natural beauty. She wears dark jeans- very _tight_ dark jeans, Rachel notices- and a bright orange shirt that hugs every part of her body, not even attempting to hide the tiny baby bump just barely visible. Rachel is surprised to realize that she finds this incredibly sexy. It also makes her feel slightly inferior in the clothing department, even though half of it comes per Quinn's recommendation. She suggests that Rachel leaves on her shirt and tank-top, leaving the shirt unbuttoned about halfway down to show her chest off to the world. Rachel was slightly apprehensive about this at first, but Quinn's darker-than-normal eyes convinced her otherwise. She did get to pick out a skirt though, its black orange plaid designs resting over her legs right now. The look Rachel appears to be going for (however accidental) reminds Quinn of herself in the early days of her time at Catholic school before her grandmother quashed her rebellion: in uniform, but unkempt. Her skirt had nothing on Rachel's, though, but that's probably because Rachel has a plaid skirt for every holiday, and they're all hung up in perfect chronological order.

"You look very pretty, Quinn," is pretty much all Rachel can say without acting like a complete idiot. "Orange is very becoming on you, which is interesting because it doesn't work on most people."

Quinn knows that this is a compliment, so she takes it like one. "Thanks. We should go; Finn just texted me and told us not to be late."

Unlike most people, Rachel has no qualms about Quinn and her ex-boyfriend retaining a friendship simply because she trusts that Quinn wants to be away from that kind of relationship, and because she trusts Quinn. So many teenagers are insecure about themselves and therefore insecure about their romantic liaisons, but Rachel's not like that. If anything, Quinn thinks, her confidence could be her downfall, even though the cheerleader has no intentions of cheating on Rachel, and it wouldn't technically be considered cheating since they aren't technically dating.

"Why? I most certainly do not advocate tardiness, but aren't these types of parties usually very casual?" Rachel's nose scrunches up in confusion as she stands back up after retrieving her jacket from a small hamper full of coats that don't need to be hung up.

"Apparently it's a murder mystery party that some football players have put together," Quinn explains. "Finn neglected to tell us this before, and now he's freaking out because we're not there."

"Who _is_ there?"

"A couple of Cheerios, some jocks- around twenty people total." A nonchalant shrug follows this proclamation as Quinn fishes through her purse to find her keys.

They wave quick good-byes to Rachel's dads, who are already beginning to entertain their friends who showed up early to their "party." Quinn doesn't really think that if 50% or more of the attendees are over 30 that it can really be called a party- she prefers to call old people parties gathering because that's really what they are. The music isn't loud enough to call the cops, the alcohol is at least 100 years old and $75, and the dancing is simple enough to keep people's arthritis at bay. She's seen enough gatherings at her house to know that nothing good can ever happen at them to anyone under 20; she's been the brunt of her grandmother's jokes at those things for years.

"So Quinn," Rachel asks once they're under way, driving down main roads this time instead of back ones, "is this going to be a bunch of jocks, Cheerios, and me?"

Quinn immediately shakes her head. "No. Puck invited all of the Glee kids, too. But don't worry." Carefully, she reaches her right hand over the center console to take Rachel's out of her lap and into the center. "I won't let you get lost in a mess of meat heads and bimbos."

"I can't believe that I'm going to be making polite small talk with people who used to hate me so much." Rachel seems kind of out of it, zoned into her own little world. She occasionally glances back to their clasped hands, but is mostly in too much shock at the party she's headed towards to process much of anything.

"You've been kissing one of those people for the past twenty-six days not including weekends- well, speaking with one for the past twenty-six days and kissing one for the past fourteen."

Rachel smiles now, suddenly brightened and less afraid. "It's really cute how you remember when all of this started."

"How could I forget? The day before you came to sit with me was the second time I've sat alone at lunch ever. The first time was in Catholic school, and I really don't want to relive that. I had no friends in Catholic school, and when you came to sit next to me, it was like the first day of public school again. Nobody hated me, and I felt, you know, _normal_." Tears prick at the corners of Quinn's eyes, a slight redness appearing in them. She's never talked about how much she hated Catholic school, how everyone there treated her like how she used to treat Rachel Berry, how she built up walls to keep herself from running into the bathroom and crying every day for two years. Maybe one day she'll tell Rachel all of those things, but not today and certainly not right now. Quinn blinks away her tears and fixes a smile onto her pained face, allowing herself to fall back into the mask of Quinn Fabray, head Cheerio, just for a couple of moments more. "Don't think I'm remembering it because you're so _wonderful_ or anything." The sentence is supposed to come out as casual and witty and funny and sarcastic, but it's all too serious for that to be taken as anything other than a cutting insult. Rachel just ignores it and they are silent for the rest of the ride.

Kurt opens the door to Puck's house, a red cup in his hand and a big smile on his boyish face. He assures them that it's just Coke as they each sniff it confirm his story, and Quinn notices that he ignores the watery redness fading from her eyes. She's grateful for that, really, but she knows he'll be coming up to her later in the party for an explanation. She also detects a minute bit of smudged lipstick dotting his otherwise flawless complexion and chooses not to say anything because that would probably be more embarrassing for whatever boy put it there (Quinn's _sure_ it was a boy) than it would be for Kurt. This unasked question gets filed into the back of her mind, saved as a defense mechanism for when Kurt's sure to attack her later.

He's leading them into the tiny living room where only about twenty people are gathered, sipping from the same red cups. According to Kurt, it really _is_ just soda because Puck wants everyone sober for the rest of the night. "Finn and Puck say this is going to be crazy- apparently they've got the whole house rigged up. In fact-" and Kurt looks around sneakily as though he's delivering the juiciest piece of gossip ever to grace the face of the earth- "they put up this one bit in the attic-"

"Kurt. We'll see it for ourselves, thanks." Quinn interrupts him with a cute smile and he tips his head at her, putting down his plastic cup and smoothing his hands over his miraculously white skinny jeans. She thinks that they're Marc Jacobs, but she can't be quite sure. His enthusiasm over Halloween and a murder mystery (two things he stated gave him "the willies" at the last glee club practice) seems misplaced and erratic, and Quinn knows that those feelings are the ones that most often accompany the vindication of a crush. She has experience in that department- very recent experience, in fact. So it's through those details that Quinn makes the conclusion that either her ex-boyfriend or the father of her child must sail slightly to the left of straight, an ironic turn of events to say the least.

The girls enjoy a simple conversation with Mercedes until she and Rachel start going off about partials and minor chords and mixolydian mode and things that are way over Quinn's head, so she brushes the brunette's arm as she goes off to chat with Santana and Brittany and some of her other former Cheerio friends. This slight move does not go unnoticed by Mercedes, which causes Rachel to stumble a little with her words, knowing that that extra touch will be going right into Kurt and Mercedes' next Gossip Girl session. It doesn't bother her because her dads and her nature have always taught her to be open and honest, but things are little more complicated for Quinn.

"Hey everybody!" Finn shouts into the mix of people with a broad smile. "You all need to pick a partner right now, and then we can give you these card things and get started."

Finn's directions are slightly confusing, but everyone understands them well enough to latch onto a partner. The room is fairly obviously divided- Finn and Puck, Kurt and Mercedes, Tina and Artie, Santana and Brittany, Matt and Mike, jocks and Cheerios- except for the strange pairing of Quinn and Rachel. Finn is the only one who knows that they have a blossoming friendship (he, of course, hasn't figured out exactly in what manner their friendship is blossoming), and Kurt and Mercedes both raise their eyebrows at each other when they notice Quinn and Rachel's intertwined fingers. Noticing that is certainly a feat because Quinn isn't even aware that when she went toward Rachel her hand shot out to the other girl's.

Excitedly, Finn hurries around to distribute "characters" for everyone to play throughout the game. Quinn and Rachel receive not the traditional old-time alter-egos, but rather an overworked accountant and a janitor with big dreams that never came to fruition in the midst of a brutal fight about their shared apartment and the custody of their two kittens. Finn and Puck's characters, who are the ones throwing this party, were their best friends in college, but Finn betrayed them by dating them both at once. That almost parallels reality, but not quite.

"OK, everyone; you each have to pick who is going to be what character – it doesn't matter if you're a boy or a girl; I think most of these are pretty, um, uh..."

"Androgynous?" Mike pipes up from the back of the room.

"Yeah. That. Anyways, if you look at the bottom of your cards you should see a thin red or white line. If it's white, you're innocent. If it's red, you're the murderer. So, don't tell anyone if you got the red one, 'cause that would ruin the game. Just act cool or normal or like a British butler, because they _always_ do it and no one ever figures out until, like, the end of the movie when he's killed 75% of the people already. Yeah. Be like that. I guess you should decide your new identities now, because we're about to get started?" He ends that with a questionable look at Puck who gives everyone a thumbs up.

After checking out the microscopic line to make sure that it's not red, they decide that Quinn will be the accountant and Rachel will be the janitor, and it's very much clear that this is mostly Quinn's decision. The newly christened accountant begins to laugh when she pictures Rachel belting out _Cats _andwearing a jumpsuit in the empty halls of McKinley High after class has ended. By the time she mentions Rachel pulling on a feline mask and doing pirouettes across wet floors, Kurt and Mercedes have come over to listen. Horrified at the discussion, Rachel turns her back to them as Kurt and Quinn agree that she would look best in a leopard costume, while Mercedes prefers a black panther.

"May I remind you that you are all having delusional fantasies and that I would commit _jiagi_ before I allowed myself to become a janitor," Rachel tells the laughing threesome.

Kurt's eyebrows quirk up. "What's that?"

"Japanese ritual suicide."

"Hang on," Mercedes interrupts. "I thought that was, sepoopoo or something."

"_Seppuku_. That was for male samurai. _Jigai_ is a female version, usually committed during times of military destruction. They did it to prevent rape by the victorious enemy soldiers," Rachel explains with a bubbly detachment while the others look on awkwardly. "Dad learned about it in college, and he says that the way they did it was by slicing into-"

"Enough!" Kurt exclaims. "Though it is Halloween, I do not need a graphic description of rape-prevention suicide and the severed bits that are a by-product."

Quinn loops her arm through Rachel's because she can get away with it and adds, "None of us want to think of you in a pool of your own blood, either."

"That's adorable," Mercedes coos sarcastically. Quinn blushes, and Rachel is now absolutely positive that both Mercedes and Kurt have figured out that their friendship is slightly more than that.

There's not much time to dwell on this revelation as the lights flip off, there's the crack of noise like a gunshot, and a scream. Though Rachel is sure that the "gunshot" (she's been around prop departments and foley artists long enough to know a fake when she hears it) and the lights are planned, the scream sounds like Brittany in the process of smacked down by a Sumo wrestler. There is no way that this is planned, because Rachel knows for a fact that Puck would never voluntarily listen to a girl scream at that high of a pitch unless she's having an orgasm. Now, Rachel herself has never personally heard that noise, but she's pretty sure that that's _not _what Brittany is having.

The lights flicker back on, and Finn's on the ground with supposed blood covering his body, but Rachel knows it's only food coloring, probably some that has been sitting in his cup all night. She understands the tricks of the trade, and it's very difficult for amateurs to fool her. The effect is still enough to give Rachel a moment of pause as she stares at Finn unmoving on the floor, and Quinn even looks at him like he might really be dead. Kurt clasps his hands across his mouth overdramatically, showing that he probably knew about this beforehand. Santana's clutching a terrified Brittany in her arms, half completely grossed-out and half something else that causes Quinn to wonder if she and Rachel are the only not-so-straight girls in Glee.

At any rate, Puck comes out of the kitchen with a ridiculously dorky Sherlock Holmes hat on, pipe sticking out of his mouth. He looks like an idiot, and no one can contain their laughter. Quinn does, however, because this display of Neanderthal-idiocy gave his sperm to her baby girl. She's really started to notice Puck's antics more and more as of late due to this fact. "Ladies and gentlemen, tonight, on All Hallow's Eve, a dear friend of ours has been murdered. And two of you killed him. Everyone has a motive, which I have in these booklets as well as background information on each pair. Now, I can tell you with absolute certainty that neither myself nor Matt nor Mike did it, because we set this entire thing up. As for the rest of you... anyone is fair game. Clues are hidden throughout the house – you can go anywhere except for my mom's room. It has big caution tape on the door. You only get one guess as to who killed Finn, and you have to present three good pieces of evidence. If you get it right, there's a prize. If you got the red card, you are not allowed to change the information on the evidence, but you can hide it. All the evidence is marked so that you know you're not picking up anything weird, like my sister's sippy cup or my mom's tax returns." He slips back into his very poorly acted Sherlock Holmes character and says, "Now, you may begin!"

A half an hour into the game and Rachel and Quinn are not close at all to figuring out who did it. They even took Kurt's accidental hint about the attic but all they found was a full bottle of arsenic (not real arsenic, they deduced) which indicated that someone else was ready to smack down Finn that night. Quinn suggested that perhaps they had a lot of rats to take care of. At any rate, they found nothing of importance. Perhaps Kurt himself had gotten there first.

"So what exactly do we know?" Quinn asks as they take a break in the kitchen. She fiddles around with the arsenic bottle, checking to see if there's more to it.

Rachel pulls out the booklet, which she annotated with the gel pens that she carries around in her purse at all times. "OK – Mercedes and Kurt have motive because Finn embezzled money from them in a big corporate scandal; Tina and Artie both lost their jobs to Finn as retribution for Artie stealing Tina from him; and as for the others, I do not believe that they are discreet enough to hide it."

"I resent that," Quinn says, elbowing Rachel. "I'm a former Cheerio, and I used to date a football player."

Rachel stands up and comes behind her, placing an arm around the cheerleader and a kiss on her cheek. "You've seen the light."

"I think you need to be nicer to me or I'll withhold kisses later tonight," Quinn teases. Falling into this sort of banter comes much easier with Rachel than it did with Finn, probably because Finn didn't understand that most of her clever retorts were sarcasm and he never managed to come up with any of his own.

A pout is invoked by Rachel and Quinn almost surrenders, but they're interrupted by the incredibly glam team of Kurt and Mercedes. The male half of the duo slaps his hand firmly on the counter and belts out, "Tell us everything!"

Both girls are a little too weirded out by this sudden invasion to respond accurately. It is Rachel who first says, "Well, we are just as clueless as you as to who killed Finn. We have it narrowed down to you guys and Tina and Artie, because we don't think that the others are inconspicuous enough to hide it."

"We ain't talking about that!" Mercedes snaps. She bumps Kurt's shoulder with her elbow, knocking his fragile form harder into the counter. "Tell 'em, Kurt."

He rubs his shoulder but manages to get out, "We're referring to the recent explosion of rainbows between yourself and Quinn."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Rachel immediately says in an attempt to protect Quinn's privacy. If she had her way, they would be walking down the halls of McKinley High, hand-in-hand, clad in matching pink outfits because Rachel loves pink and it's her fantasy.

But her sort-of girlfriend lays her hand on top of the singer's and says, with very little confidence, "It's OK, Rachel. Mercedes and Kurt are our friends; they wouldn't hurt us."

Kurt squeals and seems to take this as an affirmative, hugging them both. "I just _knew_ Glee was too straight; you can't have a real glee club where only one-twelfth is gay. It just doesn't work like that."

"We're glad to be more statistics," Quinn says, getting a strange sense of how liberating it feels to be talking about her undefined relationship with Rachel like it's something normal and accepted and like they're one of those adorable couples that they put on soap operas to give single, middle-aged women of the Midwest something to dream about.

Mercedes juts her hip out, studies the two girls. "I just don't understand how y'all got on without killing each other."

Rachel begins to explain. "Well, we used some proven calming techniques to keep cool during the heat of battle –"

"You mean _you_ used calming techniques. I kind of yelled at you because I thought they were stupid," Quinn mutters apologetically, a blush tainting her pale cheeks.

"There was a lot of fighting in the beginning," Rachel agrees, "but by airing out our grievances early and then speaking about them after the screaming was done we managed to solve most of our problems."

"You could say we're a work in progress," Quinn jokes.

Kurt pulls a face until it turns into one of astonished realization. "You know, I read in _Cosmo_ that if a relationship is not constantly evolving, then it's dead."

"Um...thanks, Kurt." Rachel has no good follow-up to this, which is not shocking at all.

They fall into silence, but it's comfortable and Quinn feels like she can finally act like herself. Then she realizes that she doesn't even know who that is.


	3. Halloween Part III

It's not until another half an hour goes by and Quinn has made very little progress in finding out who killed Finn Hudson (Rachel is compiling clues like the love child of Nancy Drew and the Flash and appears to be on the right track) that she realizes that she never found out who kissed Kurt. Things like that really shouldn't bother her anymore but Quinn is still trained to seek out gossip like a fiend and she _really _wants to know who Kurt had turned to the "dark side" as the football players often referred to it as. Her experience with the so-called dark side has been very pleasant so far, actually, and she thinks she finally has a grasp on male minds, being in this relationship. Well, not all of their minds because she still doesn't understand their overwhelming desire to have sex all the time. That's probably because she's pregnant and would rather not add another baby to her already occupied uterus.

She doesn't really have time to speak with Rachel about this because the other girl's busy with the clues and discovering where everything is. Apparently she's very close, thanks to the arsenic, a movie ticket stub, and a note detailing the poisoning of Finn written on a computer. Quinn has no idea what these three items have in common but Rachel does after checking them with the descriptions provided at the beginning of the game.

So it's with that attitude that the clever sleuth decides to present her findings to the group of miscreants, Puck, and one very alive Finn who looks rather fascinated when he sees that it's Rachel who has solved his mystery so easily. He tries to hold his head high and move on but that's a bit difficult for him due to Rachel and Quinn's seemingly effortless friendship. In all their time together, Finn knows that he and Quinn never slipped into that easy kind of rhythm. It irks him, mostly because for the life of him he can't figure out how they're doing it. Maybe all those times Puck told him that he's an awkward buffoon were actually for his benefit, and not to be a jackass. With Puck, it's almost impossible to tell.

"Our first clue was this bottle of arsenic we found in the attic," Rachel begins, waltzing around and acting as though Quinn had actually done anything other than follow her around, try to figure out if it was her ex-puppy dog of a boyfriend or her baby daddy who had kissed Kurt, avoid said boy and Mercedes, and attempt to keep herself from staring at Rachel's ass too much.

Rachel's going on and on about toxicologists and forensics and red herrings, but Quinn's not really paying attention. Of course she's interested in Rachel's theories but Santana and Brittany are vaguely distracting, what with their closeness and giggles. Brittany sits on the armrest of a leather recliner where Santana's made herself comfortable, her feet propped up and a file vigorously scrubbing against her nails. The blonde leans down to whisper something in her friend's ear, eliciting both a giggle and that vaguely disgusted look that graced Santana's face earlier when Brittany had all but pulled a Scooby-Doo and leaped into her arms. Quinn wonders idly if Kurt's glee club gay quota might have some actual basis in reality.

And then people are clapping her on the shoulder like she's won a freaking Oscar or something even though she didn't do anything at all. She kind of feels like a trophy wife, although her "wife" is actually a year younger than her and probably slightly less wealthy. At any rate, Quinn stands up from the leather stool she currently occupies to find Rachel, congratulate her on her brilliance, and get the hell out of here. She sees Puck sneaking wine coolers or beer or something into his backyard like a ninja behind the blackness of the Puckermans' patio window, and there is no way in hell she's letting herself get talked into another night of drunken escapades. Besides, she has a baby to think about now, too.

Excusing herself politely from the crowd, Quinn seeks out Kurt and drags him by his Ralph Lauren clad arm into the corner. She must have slightly crazed eyes because Kurt's more terrified than she's ever seen him- not like she _means_ to intimidate him, but she just _really_ wants to know who he kissed. "Spill it, designer dud. I know you kissed someone, and I know it was either my ex-boyfriend or baby daddy."

"Quinn, you don't need to channel Genghis Khan, Robespierre, _and_ Darth Vader to get me to tell you," he says what seems like a brave voice, though he's cowering against the wall as he speaks. "He is one of your conquests, after all. I am certainly in favor of women scorned and all that, so I'll tell you. Also, it's definitely too juicy for me to keep it inside." He leans in conspiratorially and whispers, "It was Finn."  
She tries to act shocked- really, she does- but she saw it coming because she knew it had to be Finn or Puck, and Puck is pretty much the epitome of straight, so Finn seems like a more logical choice. "Wow... was it like, a real kiss or just a quick peck?" She _knows_ it's more than a quick peck, but she wants to find out just how much. No one's lipstick gets smudged from a quick peck.

"It was like a steamy make-out session a la _Brokeback Mountain_, only without cowboy hats and death and-"

"Kurt." Quinn stops him because while she's totally over Finn and totally into Rachel, she still doesn't need to hear the sordid details of his homosexual ventures. "One, I have never even seen _Brokeback Mountain_, so that reference is lost on me. Two, the details are irrelevant. What's more important are the how and why."

The boy scoffs at her and leans against the wall in a very sensual manner, smiling like an imp. "Well, it went a little something like this..." Quinn is both mortified and amused when Kurt puts his hand on her shoulder, realizing that he's about to force her into a role play of the entire sequence. "Hey, Kurt, can I ask you something?"

Quinn's giggles overpower her ability to respond but Kurt takes that as an affirmative and continues on with the scene. "I was at lunch yesterday, and I went to apologize to Quinn for being such a dunce about the baby-"

"Did he really say 'dunce?'" Quinn doesn't think that Finn's capable of using that word in everyday speech.

"Of course not." Kurt slips back into himself for just a moment and then effortlessly transitions back into the lower, slightly slurred voice he's been employing for Finn. Judging by this performance, Quinn thinks that he should probably give consideration to acting. "I came to apologize, and I noticed that Quinn was really cozy with Rachel. Like how you got cozy with your teddy bears when you were a kid." The likelihood of her ex-boyfriend actually coming up with that metaphor is actually fairly high, and, Quinn thinks, it was probably a good idea to break-up with him. "And I know I'm not always the first to pick up on these things, but I definitely think that there's something going on between them even if no one knows, kind of like Blair and Serena on 'Gossip Girl.' Or at least that's what my mom thinks, anyway. So I was wondering why Quinn would, you know, switch teams all of a sudden, and then I thought maybe you could tell me because you're already on the other team."

"This is such a strange conversation. I can't believe he did that," Quinn says, her head spinning slightly from Finn's rather blunt proposition.

Kurt shrugs, back to himself now. "I don't think that he was offering this as an open invitation to make out. He just genuinely wanted to know why you would decide to randomly switch – or, at least, he probably perceived it as random. But if I know one thing about Rachel Berry, it's that there is absolutely _nothing_ left to chance in her life."

"Can't argue with that," Quinn chuckles, and they share a smile that's more a gesture of understanding than of amusement.

"Anyway...I told him that there's really no good way of explaining such things and he asked me if I would show him," Kurt replies. "He had lost puppy dog eyes, so of course I couldn't say no, and then it escalated from there. We only stopped because Puck was yelling for Finn. We _had_ been up there for a good half hour by that point, so he had reason to wonder."

Quinn really isn't sure what to make of this, though she's surprised that her gut is telling her it's a good thing because she wants Finn to be happy. Wanting Finn's eternal well-being is something she expected to acquire in another couple of months after she finished damning him to hell for his blow-up, but maybe this genuine desire means that she's fully over him. Not like that feat is incredibly difficult to manage since Rachel's in the picture, yet it's weird to her nonetheless. She thinks it's because they've been together for so long and to have him in her life in such a different capacity has rocked her boat a little. That's not a bad thing, of course, just strange. There are a lot of strange things in her head these days.

"Finn is a really good kisser, by the way." The glee club's gayest member is too busy swooning his ass off to realize that Quinn has been zoned out for the better part of three minutes.

"How much experience do you actually have to compare it to?" The cheerleader winces as she finishes that sentence, not meaning to fall back on her catty retorts. She's getting better, and that's partially because Rachel refuses to kiss her for an entire day if she gets wind of such a remark.

Kurt doesn't really mind, though. "None, to be honest. But it doesn't matter because – I mean, well, after he took my shirt off –"

"What!" She cannot believe that Finn would do such a thing, go that far during an exploratory make-out session. Her face feels like someone's stuck it in the oven and probably retains the color of a clown nose as she tries to process that tidbit.

But Kurt's laughing, his sides almost splitting. "Just kidding. All our clothes stayed on, don't worry. Ooh! Let's dance!" It's clear that this discussion has ended with the appearance of an ADD moment, but that's OK because Quinn would like to figure this out on her own.

Kurt picks her up with a swooping motion and spins her in a silly dance, which causes Quinn to realize that there's music playing. The song is unfamiliar, but Quinn can tell it's from the big band and swing era. She feels a surge of pride because she actually _knows_ how to swing dance and will (hopefully) be able to keep up with the graceful lord of the dance that is Kurt Hummel. Swing dancing came to her in one set of classes that she had absolutely _begged_ her parents for during seventh grade. The lessons were once a week for three months, and Quinn loved it to death. She loved being able to spin her body like that, hands flying and grabbing all over the place and legs moving seemingly out of their own accord. Getting flipped over was her favorite part by far, spinning weightless through the air at the hands of someone that she had spent weeks building up trust with – Quinn can't accurately describe this feeling now because it's been so long since she last experienced that freedom. Her grandmother, of course, quashed her dreams yet again when she came to watch Quinn's recital at the end of the session, she deemed the moves too "risque" and refused to let her granddaughter participate in them anymore.

"Do you know how to swing, Kurt?" Quinn asks as he dips her and they twirl around until she's back in a standing position, hands on his chest as she looks into bright blue eyes framed by rosy cheeks.

Those blue eyes of his twinkle in the most devious way as he drawls out, "Honey, God graced me with these fabulous hips for a reason. So the real question is do _you _know how to swing?"

"Like a pro." If they were both straight, this would be flirting, but since Kurt definitely isn't and Quinn isn't sure what category she falls under, they end up giggling together as he spins her around a couple of times almost as if he's warming up for the main event. The music takes a turn for the dramatic when the first song ends and "Zoot Suit Riot" pops up on the stereo, which wrangles a squeal from Kurt.

To show he means business, he spins her out and lets go of her hand, doing a little tap dance as the guitar comes in with fast triplets. Quinn smiles, and she remembers how to do it. She retaliates by pushing herself into him and crossing both of his hands across her stomach, and then throwing herself back out to the left so that her front presses up against his side and Kurt knows that she's no stranger to this dance. He wonders exactly how she understands what to do, but there will be time for that later. For now, they dance.

There's spins and flips and twists and turns and steps that Quinn doesn't recall the names of, but remembers how to execute them flawlessly. And then Kurt's tiny arms lift her up into the air, and for a second, she's flying. She's flying free as her body twists around Kurt's back and her hair whips into her face and her long, smooth legs stay behind him as her torso begins to right itself and it's _perfect_. Then her feet are on the ground again, taking her back to her last landing: before, it was her grandmother's cold eyes staring at her with an extreme disappointment that can only be matched by Sue Sylvester. Now, though, her eyes meet Rachel's, which means that magic doesn't leave the moment, because the singer looks incredibly impressed by the performance, and Quinn finds that she likes having someone be proud of her.


	4. Veterans' Day

Rachel Berry is the only person that Quinn knows who attends the Annual Lima Veterans' Day Parade and Ceremony voluntarily. There are a couple of kids in the marching band in her math class who have to play in it, but Quinn knows no one else who goes. She finds that she's started to get on fairly well with a lot more people now that she's in Glee, off the Cheerios, and dating Rachel – well, unofficially on the last one still. Rachel's too afraid to say anything about it for fear that Quinn will explode and want to stop whatever they're doing. The cheerleader knows this and feels guilty for forcing Rachel to hide, but she honestly doesn't know what to do about the situation. Plus, it's not a terrible arrangement anyway. There's no one staring at her in the hallway, no need to tell her parents and have them act strange, no reason for her grandmother to poke at every little flaw that Rachel has, no endless rumors for her to set right. Then, though, there are those times when Quinn wants to grab Rachel's hand in the halls, give her a kiss before they part for class, or just cry into her shoulder when she's having a bad day. They've taken to sitting inside for lunch now, which is a plus, but they still don't sit at the jocks and Cheerios' table. Finn and Puck occasionally spend some time with them on days when the Cheerios are having fashion crises, however it's not really a significant amount.

The invitation Rachel extends to Quinn regarding the Veterans' Day Parade does not shock her, but what is interesting is that Rachel made a speech during Glee on Tuesday about the parade and how they should all come to support the brave men and women who helped to preserve their freedom. They all felt a little guilty at that speech and suddenly had the desire to spend their time watching, as Finn put it, "a bunch of old guys in funny hats" march down Main Street. Even Puck's frozen heart cracked a little when Rachel brought out pictures of a soldier in Vietnam giving water to a group of little kids, and he agreed to make some time in his very busy schedule to go to the parade with the rest of the glee clubbers.

So that's why Quinn brings up the parade at dinner tonight when her parents ask her if she has any plans for the day off of school. She's never been, of course, because after the Clinton administration signed the "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policy into law her grandmother stopped supporting the military and refused to be involved in any Veterans' Day celebrations.

Characteristically, they avert their eyes after the question has been posed, as though their bland chicken and green beans are worth more of their time than their daughter. "Yes, actually; Rachel suggested that the glee club all go to the parade, so I'm going to do that."

"Perhaps you should invite your friend Rachel over for dinner after," her father suggests without looking up from his plate. "You've been talking about her an awful lot lately." He stuffs a forkful of green beans between his lips and Quinn watches as they mash up in his mouth.

Her mother nods, also keeping her gaze steadfastly on her food. "Yes, that would be lovely. We'll serve dinner at six, but tell her she's welcome at any time before that." Quinn doesn't think that "welcome" is quite the right word to describe her family's generally apathetic attitude; "permitted" probably fits better in this situation.

"Where's that boyfriend of yours – Finn something or other?" her grandmother pipes up from the end of the table, obviously having missed the previously whispered conversation. The Fabrays have six chairs at their dining room table: one as the head at each end and two on each of the sides. Nana always sits at the head chair closest to the window, while Quinn's father sits at the other head. She sits on his left and her mother sits on his right. This means that everyone has to speak up for Nana to hear, and, unlike her parents, Nana fixes Quinn with a steely, intensely blue stare every time she talks to her.

Not wanting to be like her parents and see nothing but her disappearing food throughout dinner, Quinn actually makes an attempt at eye contact when speaking to her grandmother. "We broke up a while ago, Nana."

"Figures," she snorts, running her creepy eyes over her granddaughter's body. Whenever she does this Quinn feels like she's getting an X-ray of her inner most secrets taken. "You're gaining weight, and you can't expect a boy to put up with that."

Quinn says nothing and goes back to her food, tears pricking cautiously at the corners of her eyes.

The glee club goes out to lunch before the parade in downtown Lima at one of Puck's favorite chili dog places. The only one who doesn't show is Matt, but that's only because his cousin lost his leg in the Iraq War and Akron is honoring him in their own parade. They all want to go with him, but no matter how stupid their teenage brains are, they have enough common sense not to stuff all twelve members into Quinn's tiny car (Kurt's is in the shop, so they can't use it). Matt is kind of relieved.

"I don't think that this is sanitary," Rachel comments, poking at the chili dogs upon on the plate she's sharing with Quinn. It's not even a real _plate_ – it's a _tray_ for God's sake and it's blue and sticky and her dogs and fries are in those weird basket things with sandwich wrap paper and Rachel's _sure_ that's not clean.

Quinn laughs at her and only feels a little pang of guilt before digging into her meal. Before the baby and before Rachel, she used to watch her weight to make sure she could fit in her cheerleading uniform and to avoid her grandmother's biting comments. Always toeing the line but never crossing it, anorexia and bulimia loomed like dark shadows over Quinn's shoulders since freshmen year. She wasn't stupid, though, and prided herself on being able to keep her strange eating habits hidden from the rest of the world. It had worked until Rachel Berry came along and stuck her "big Jewish nose where it didn't belong." This was early on in their interaction, and Quinn paid for that insult through Rachel ignoring her for three days. The blonde managed to make it stop by buying an enormous cheesesteak sandwich from the cafeteria (gross) and eating the entire thing (double gross). It took the rest of the day for the nausea to go away but Rachel got a little carried away and gave her both a hug _and_ a kiss on the cheek, so it was all worth it. Now Quinn pretty much eats like a normal person, though occasionally Rachel has to slip a little of her food onto Quinn's plate if the other girl takes too little. She always rewards her pregnant girlfriend with kisses and said pregnant girlfriend is never the wiser. Rachel's system works out quite well.

"It probably isn't, but it tastes like God exploded in your mouth," Artie says as he stuffs approximately half a chili dog into his open orifice and devours it in one bite.

Rachel makes a noise that's somewhere between a squeak and a retch. "That's disgusting. I refuse to eat this thing." She pokes at it with her finger and it just wiggles.

"Just close your eyes," Mike Chang suggests from his seat. They have to split up into two tables because the chili dog place is so tiny it can't possibly accommodate eleven people at one table. Quinn and Rachel go together obviously (everyone's noticed their sudden and slightly disturbing friendship), and Brittany and Santana _still_ follow Quinn everywhere, and Mike and Artie end up at their table sort of by accident but since they're all Glee kids, everyone gets to join in the fun. Quinn reflects that this is a lot different than the Cheerios where competition, drama, back-stabbing, and general bitchiness set the tone for most get-togethers.

Santana stares at her salad, which is covered in high calorie Caesar dressing, with a sharp eye as though trying to find any bugs that might have wandered into it by mistake. "Maybe you shouldn't over-analyze everything, Berry."

"You haven't touched your food either," Rachel points out.

Clearly, the Cheerio's been challenged- by Rachel _Berry_ nonetheless- and she has to accept, even if technically Rachel basically owns everyone's asses when it comes to glee club. Also, she has to win, but the salad scares her a lot and she thinks she might have just seen a maggot go by.

Sweet, innocent Brittany, always ready to help her friend, offers, "I can do it for you, if you want – like how I always make the airplane go into your mouth, and you'll eat anything, even Mom's soup." Santana blushes profusely at this while everyone else stifles giggles, and Quinn has all but confirmed in her mind that the other two cheerleaders have a "special friends" relationship. This is even more confirmed when Santana, angry with gritted teeth, turns to Brittany and all but _melts _beneath her blonde companion's adorable guilt. Mike, Rachel, and Artie are all of course shocked at this very drastic switch of mood swing, but Quinn's kind of expecting it. She knows that Brittany can wrap any boy around her finger effortlessly, so why should Santana be any different? She's now totally convinced that her two Cheerio friends are involved much more deeply than they let on, especially because she's tried Bambi eyes, puppy dog pouts, chocolates, flowers, and even hooking Santana up with the hottest guys in school, but she has never, _ever_ managed to move that fiery gaze from the Latina's eyes in less than a week. Brittany does it in a matter of seconds.

In order to get the subject away from her best friends and their lesbian tendencies (she knows that she would want them to do the same for her, and Quinn's become a strong believer in the golden rule as of late), the blonde steers the conversation back to the parade at hand. "So Rachel, when does this actually start?"

"About one," Rachel replies, taking a bite of her chili dog, almost throwing up. She decides to follow Mike's suggestion and do it with her eyes close, which actually makes the slop of meat taste almost _good_ in her mouth.

They all watch on as Rachel continues to eat with her eyes closed until Artie says, "I think she's turned to the dark side," and they all start laughing when Puck comes over from the other table, outerwear covering him up.

"You guys ready? The parade starts in half an hour, and I want to at least be able to see the windbags," Puck grumbles and even though it's Veterans' Day and they're supposed to be honoring soldiers, he looks more interested in jumping the bones of a hot mama sitting in the corner alone.

Quinn rolls her eyes and Artie turns very seriously to face his teammate. "If I ever hear you insult the men and women that defend yours, mine, and everyone else's freedom ever again, I will sic my giant robot on you." Even though the kid's in a wheelchair and probably doesn't have a robot, giant or otherwise, Puck is thoroughly creeped out by his intense stare and retracts his previous statement.

"OK, geez. Can't you guys take a joke?" He walks off, feeling slightly annoyed and slightly disgusting.

The parade and its assorted festivities finish at about 5:45 and they're all so high on the entire afternoon that no one wants to drive off into the twilight and back to their disappointing homes. They don't want to think about school in the morning and Puck almost convinces the whole group to just say, "Fuck it!" and get lost in the woods for hours on end. But Rachel feels as though showing up late to her first ever dinner with Quinn's parents reflects poorly her, so she insists that they leave now and avoid getting crucified. In all honesty, crucifixion seems like a very real fear to Rachel because she's Jewish, has two gay dads, probably ranks as a four or five on the Kinsey scale, and moved their daughter up to at least a three (Rachel legitimately thinks that Quinn might be completely homosexual, but that's a talk for a different day). The point is the Rachel already has a bunch of strikes against her, and she can't afford another one.

So when Quinn and Rachel pull up to the Fabrays' house at exactly 6:03 the brunette's hyperventilating like a marathon runner, the ex-Cheerio has to lean over and kiss her softly on the cheek to get it to stop. "Don't worry, Rachel," Quinn assures her, accompanied by a light squeeze to the other girl's hand. "They'll love you, you see."

She makes a move to get out of the car, but an unsure hand on her should stops her progress. "Unsure" is most certainly a new emotion for Rachel Berry, but then again, this is certainly a new situation for her as well. She's never met the parents before, so to speak, especially parents who are very conservative and Catholic and not remotely aware of their daughter's lesbian relationship. "How...open do you want me to be about our relationship, my religion, and my dads?"

"Please don't mention our relationship," Quinn pleads, a tear slipping out of her eye. "I'm sorry – I just, one day I will tell them, and I'll talk about the baby and –"

"Shh...it's alright. One day, you'll be ready," Rachel says with a bittersweet smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she presses them to the soft, pale hand in front of her.

Quinn giggles, suddenly overcome with a bubbliness. "Why, Rachel Berry, I never knew you were so chivalrous. What a _gentleman_." The brunette swats her girlfriend, but all those years of cheerleading have blessed Quinn with rapid reflexes. She jumps out of the car like it's on fire and slams the door, leaning on the hood so she can stare at a very disgruntled Rachel who exits from the other side.

"What am I allowed to tell your parents?" Rachel's question is blunt and out of the blue, which Quinn has come to expect.

She comes around the front of the car, linking hands with the lovely singer in front of her before they have to transform into nothing but platonic friends. "I hate having to ask all this of you –"

"It's fine."

" – because it makes me feel like a bitch of a Cheerio again, and I don't want to go back to that. I'm in a tough spot right now, though, so I guess if they ask about anything other than our relationship or the baby, don't lie. I want you to be able to be honest with my parents, Rachel, but I'm not even sure that I can do that right now. And I really want them to like you as much as I do." Dangerously, Quinn leans closer and presses her forehead up against the beautiful girl standing before her. Rachel inhales sharply, afraid that she's about to be assaulted by the God Squad. They probably have homosexuality radar detectors or something and nets, just waiting to scoop up their prey. "Don't worry," Quinn whispers, and Rachel savors the feel of hot breath across her icy cheeks. "They won't come out here; they don't care enough."

Rachel desperately wants to tell her that they _do_ care and that she shouldn't say such things, but she's pretty sure that she would be lying if she did. Not having the courage to agree with her and break Quinn's already fractured heart, she settles on, "Are you sure?"  
"Absolutely positive."

Making sure she gives the blonde a sufficient amount of time to pull away or tell her no, Rachel lowers her lips onto Quinn's and kisses her softly, soundly, senseless. There's smiles all around and Quinn whispers, "Thank you." With that, they enter the Fabray household.

"Mom, I'm home!" The shout from the youngest Fabray fills the house as she hangs her coat up on the rack and takes Rachel's off for her before neatly resting it atop her own.

With a mischievous smirk, Rachel says, "Who's the gentleman now?"  
"Certainly not my granddaughter. She's a big-boned lady if I ever saw one." Inwardly, Quinn's entire world comes crashing down and she feels as though this entire evening might be the second biggest mistake she's ever made, the biggest one being Puck, of course. Her grandmother's cruel words stir up Quinn's emotions per usual and it takes an average of 7.4 insults (Quinn's gotten fairly good at statistics from figuring all this out) to make her cry, but with the pregnancy hormones that number has dwindled to approximately 3.1. Basically, she's screwed. The waterworks are going to erupt all over dinner, all over Rachel, and all over everything in her quickly disintegrating life.

"I think she has very delicate features, actually," Rachel chirps, trying to defend her girlfriend. It's a noble effort, one that Quinn gave up long ago. "They're very much like a pretty doll's."

Huffing, Quinn's grandmother gives her the good old once over. "Hmph. That nose of yours – you must be Jewish."

"My name's Rachel Berry," the girl mutters through gritted teeth. How Quinn managed to live with this for eight years without spontaneously combusting is completely beyond Rachel.

But Nana has already moved on, padding back into the kitchen in her orthopedic slippers and shouting pleasantly, "Robert, Robert! You know you're daughter's making friends with a Jewish girl, don't you? She's brought her over for dinner!"

Quinn opens her mouth to begin what's sure to be a blubbering apology, but Rachel cuts her off rather quickly. "Don't worry about it. I understood what I was getting myself into when I accepted your offer." The true sincerity behind the girl's words dulls the sharp bite that they have in them. Quinn ignores it and they go to meet the rest of the Fabray family. Rachel is not off to a brilliant start with this crowd, and not really looking up that much if the grandmother is anything to go by

The smell of a home-cooked meal fills the kitchen and Rachel briefly wonders how Quinn manages to stay so thin with food like this around. But then again, Rachel gets the impression that this doesn't happen too often. Perhaps the Fabrays are just as concerned with making a good impression on Rachel as Rachel is about making one on them. Just like the rest of the house, the kitchen is filled with things that prominently display the family's wealth (brass kettles, fine cabinets, and crystal wine glasses) but it doesn't feel cluttered or messy like her own house sometimes does. In a way, Rachel admires their pristine household, even if the general atmosphere resembles one of those fancy show houses they always have at developments so people can see whether they want to purchase there or not. There's no feeling of happiness and warmth and family, and for once she longs for her daddy's dirty cups left on the coffee table and her dad's ungraded English papers scattered all over. They make her feel like home. Not here. This doesn't feel like home.

Even to Quinn coming to her place is starting to feel like coming to a house instead of a home, and Rachel's house tends to stir up more of a warm feeling in the pit of her stomach than her own. Maybe it's the company or the layout or just the overall vibes, but Quinn can't help but feel awkward here while she feels so safe at Rachel's. "Mom, Dad, this is Rachel. Rachel, these are my parents." The singer thinks it odd that neither of them make a move to apologize for Nana's actions, as the old woman seems not remorseful at all and currently occupies a seat at the head of dining room table just visible through the archway out of the kitchen. She fixes Rachel with a terrifying blue stare, and she has to look away.  
"Nice to meet you, sweetheart." Quinn stares at her mom, her smile too big, too wide to be real. And so begins the act of wooing, as her parents do with every friend their daughter brings over to dinner. They want to get in good standing with that child's parents just in case they turned out to be some of Lima's elite, which Quinn doesn't really count as anyone worth knowing anymore. "I'd shake your hand, but, well, my are just a bit dirty." She laughs, twinkling, and Rachel just joins in because it would be rude not to. Quinn almost visibly cringes at the awkward tension submerging the room.

"Let me wake up for my wife's manner," Quinn's father says and extends his hand. Rachel takes it heartily and remembers the rules she's read about proper handshakes, tidbits she picked up long ago when she was learning how to win over judges at auditions: enough to seem no-nonsense but not so strong as to seem dominant. "You've got a firm handshake for a girl." Quinn's father releases her hand and Rachel has to suppress a rather feminist remark to that statement.

"Thank you, Mr. Fabray," she says simply.

Quinn's dad, Robert, claps his hands together for a reason Rachel can't quite understand, but that's fine because he then leads her into the dining room and that means it's dinner time. Rachel casually mentions that her dad is picking her up around seven, which Quinn instantly knows is a bad move. To her mother and father, this constitutes as an open invitation to badger Rachel for hours on end about her parentage, and knowing her girlfriends' parents, Quinn doubts this will end well.

"You mentioned your dad, sweetie," Quinn's mother, Andrea, begins as soon they've all sat down and have plates piled with food. Well, Quinn doesn't; her plate has only the tiniest piece of chicken, maybe two mouthfuls of mac 'n' cheese, and one serving spoon full of mashed potatoes. Her grandmother inserts fear into her at mealtimes, and she feels as though one too many peas could get her shouted at for ten minutes. She can't subject their guest to such a circus-like display.

"Um, yes, I did," Rachel replies once she recovers from the randomness of that question. With a pang of _something_, she sees Quinn's almost nonexistent dinner, the blonde tumbling over bits of macaroni with her fork but not attempting to put it in her mouth. Rachel feels like crying.

Robert wipes his mouth with his napkin and looks up at his daughter's friend. "What does he do for a living?" Then he returns his eyes to his food, which confuses Rachel, as she's not used to such a (for lack of a better word) _hostile_ environment. Quinn takes her hand under the table after mentally debating it for a good minute to show that it's all right and that such questions pass for normal in her family.

"He's the accountant of his own firm – Berry and Johnson," she replies, trying to wince because she knows what's coming next. Her girlfriend squeezes her hand to alleviate some of the pressure.

It's Andrea who jumps in with the question, and Rachel gets the feeling that Quinn's parents are one questioning machine broken up into two people. "And your mother?"

"I don't have a mother." Rachel speaks softly, but they all pick up on it, even Nana.

Feigning a look of concern, Robert says, "I'm very sorry."

Rachel's acting _very_ timid in her seat, not at all like the Rachel Berry Quinn knows, and it's starting to frighten her a little. Maybe this is all one big mistake, one that's showing prominently in the expression on her face. Upon seeing this, the brunette realizes that Quinn lives with this _every day_ and that she must put on a brave face, at least for one night. "Oh, no, it's not like that." She makes sure to sugar coat her voice, appearing as pleasant as possible. "I have two dads."

"I don't follow," Andrea states, her tone pleasant but her smile faltering just a little.

Scooping a big spoonful of potatoes and swallowing thoughtfully, Rachel takes a little time before she answers. "My dads fell in love just like anyone else, and the next natural progression was to obtain a child. Since they couldn't do it the traditional way, they hired a surrogate and that's how I came into the world. My other dad is a social worker."

Stunned silence suffocates the dining room at Rachel's explanation, until Nana's fork clatters coldly against her plate. They all jump at the sound, no one really sure how to react. Rachel just wants to curl up and die or something because she can't believe how horrible this is all turning out, and it's all _her_ fault. Quinn's relationship with her parents will never be quite the same after this, and the singer hardly can push down the guilt that wells up inside of her for hurting her girlfriend even more. Or at least, that's what she _thinks_ she's done. But in reality, Quinn cannot be more grateful to Rachel for saying something, finally, to at least start the very long process of pain and acceptance that she knows she'll be going through soon enough.

"Obscene," is all Nana Fabray can come up with. "Just plain obscene." She turns to her son who is shaking with something, though no one's really sure if it's rage or fear or grief, or some combination of the three. "Robert, you will remove this demonic harlot from this house right no – "

"Excuse me!" Rachel leaps up from her seat and fleetingly wishes that she was blessed with a little more self-control, but she's a diva through and through. _No one_ messes with a diva or anything she cares about, a lesson the Fabray family is about to learn. "I will not be talked to like that! My fathers may not live a lifestyle that you are comfortable with, but that does not give you _any_ right to speak about it so offensively!"

Quinn buries her face in hands, watching through the slits of her fingers.

Her parents fix their eyes on their plates as though the verbal equivalent of a nuclear bomb isn't going off a few feet from them.

Nana stares at her, eyes wide and smile dainty.

"You will find that in my house, I will speak however I wish. But perhaps you won't find that out, because you are _not to come here ever again_." The last six words fly out of her mouth with more venom than Rachel knew could possess such a feeble old woman. At that moment, she understands what it's like to feel so trapped and terrified by life, so beaten down that it seems as if there's no way. Rachel's never known that feeling before, and it's not very strong since she can walk right out that front door and go cry to her dads, but she can't imagine what it's like to be Quinn and come home to this every day.

She takes a step forward so that the entirety of her 5' 2" form bears down over top of the grandmother, and Quinn moves her fingers so that their on her nose now instead of covering her eyes. Her parents don't react. "I will come back here _every day_ because Quinn is my _best friend_ and she does not deserve to live with a fiendish grandmother and parents who don't even care!" Rachel's voice climbs up a scale as she reaches her final shrill pitch on that last word, chest heaving not so much from the effort of spewing out such facts, and more from the sheer emotion she puts behind them. Pale hands slide off Quinn's face and come to rest on the table, in complete disbelief over what she's just heard. There may be hell to pay later, but that's alright because somehow, she feels like she's on top of the world right now. The glowing warmth that spreads through her fingers and toes and to the ever growing bump in her belly provides her with a strange sense of comfort juxtaposed over this disturbing scene.

"Robert," Nana warns, her voice rising. Rachel feels like she's watching a puppet show: Nana, providing the voice and moving the strings, and Robert, executing the orders.

Quinn's father stands up and, at 6' 3", towers over his daughter's girlfriend in a most intimidating manner and for once Rachel feels like backing down. But she won't, because she sees the blonde ex-Cheerio beside her gaining strength from her own, like she's siphoning off her energy into Quinn. It's exhilarating. "I think it's best that you leave."

She takes a swift look at her girlfriend, who appears to have a steely enough resolve for Rachel to grudgingly agree to be led out of the house. Besides, if she tried to impose upon them any longer, she's almost positive Nana would break out the phone and dial 911, so now is as good a time as any to go. "Fine. But don't doubt for one second that I _will _be back."

Rachel walks down the chilly street, her coat doing little to quell the slicing gusts of wind that permeate the air on this night. Vaguely, as she fumbles with her cell phone, she wonders if the other Glee kids are still out somewhere partying their asses off and building a sense of team spirit that she and Quinn are missing out on.

It rings two times before Daddy picks up, just like Rachel knew it would. No one in her house is ever more than two rings distance away from a telephone at any point in time.

"Rach, honey, it's only 6:30. Why are you calling?" her daddy's voice says from inside of the phone, and Rachel almost bursts into tears.

"I love you, Daddy. I love you so much."

"I love you, too, sweetie, and I'm starting to feel a little worried." It seems strange that both Daddy and Mrs. Fabray can call her "sweetie" and elicit completely different responses. "What's going on? Dad's not supposed to pick you up for another half hour."

Maintaining her composure, Rachel speaks to her concerned father in the most even tone possible. "They were horrible, Daddy, and I want to come home."

"OK. I'll be right there."

Robert Fabray shakes down to his bones as he slams the door after his daughter's little friend. On one hand, he shakes from the anger he feels at having to have let such a disgusting excuse of a human being into his own home. Clearly she's been corrupting his perfect Quinn, the girl he's spent the last eight years molding into the beautiful blonde Cheerio she now has become. Yes, his daughter is a masterpiece in every definition of the word, and he is _not_ about to let some filthy Jewish girl ruin his years of hard work.

Of course, there's that other part of him shaking because he knows he shouldn't be thinking like this.

It doesn't really matter what he thinks or why he's shaking, though, because of what he hears emitting from the dining room.

First, the sound of hands slapping down on the table and a chair scraping against the wooden floor.

Then, his wife's voice, quiet and meek. "You aren't going to finish your dinner, sweetheart?"

Next, his daughter's exasperated sigh and reprimanding tone. "_Don't_ call me that. I'm not five, and I'm not interested in hearing you call me something you clearly don't mean."

At last, his mother's shrill and accusatory statement, always backed up with a strange hint of calmness. "She's right; you're not sweet at all, Quinn. And it's probably a good thing that you don't eat your dinner, because you're putting on weight. That must be why Finn broke up with you – "

"SHUT UP!" Quinn roars, and Robert races back into the kitchen in hopes of diffusing the situation, but there's no hope now. Quinn's face has gone stark red and there might be hints of tears in her eyes, though it's hard to tell. She grips the table cloth tightly in fingers, probably leaving marks on her palms from the force. It takes her a moment to collect herself, to really believe that she's doing this. Such a task seemed impossible only mere hours ago, but now she feels as though there's nothing else. "You want to know the reason _why_ Finn broke up with me? The reason _why_ I'm gaining weight?"

Her mother interrupts. "Oh, honey, you haven't put on that much – "

"Yes, I have, Mom! I'm fucking pregnant, OK! And I'm just going to get bigger until I swell up like a balloon and there's nothing you can do about it!" Quinn screams like there's no tomorrow, like hell has frozen over and Elvis has come back from the dead. No turning around now, she knows, and she wouldn't have it any other way. As much as she wishes she didn't have to have this talk with her parents, she can't help but feel liberated for finally putting this out in the open for her family to rip to shreds.

But there is no immediate retribution from her family, no angry shouts or rash punches. It's just soft silence and stunned faces, which means that Quinn can do nothing until one of them reacts. Predictably her grandmother speaks first. "Heathen! Get out of my house! This Rachel girl has put horrible ideas in your head, probably convinced you to get pregnant!"

"Rachel did _not_ convince me to get pregnant! Noah Puckermann got me drunk, and I got pregnant, and Rachel's the only one who will stay by my side!"

Nana stares at her, confused by this declaration, but then she seems to understand. "It makes sense that you could only get the most worthless of boys to sleep with you! And then you got pregnant- it serves you right!"

"Stop it, just stop it!" Tears slide down Quinn's cheeks and she thinks that that might diminish her authority somewhat, but it doesn't really matter because she knows that she can't stop them. "You are a horrible person, Nana, and I wish that you had never come to live with us! I HATE YOU!" She's not quite sure when she lost the ability to have tact or be elegant in her speech or _to tell the honest to God truth for once_. Because this is the truth, and everyone at church always tells her that the truth will set her free, though she thinks that they probably don't imagine these truths or their methods of setting her free.

"Quinn! You will not speak to your grandmother like that!" Robert thunders, his voice booming so much louder than her own. It suddenly seems meek in comparison, her tiny, lithe body no match for his towering, muscular one.

But she presses on because she's in too deep to back out now. "Why not! That's how she's been treating me ever since she came here! This is _my _house, Dad! _My_ family! You are _my_ father, and you're supposed to be providing a safe and loving environment for me to grow up in! Is that what this looks like to you?"  
"A house with God in its heart is a happy house indeed," Andrea says, snapping all their heads in her direction. She rocks back and forth as though on autopilot, her glazed eyes never leaving the mundane salt shaker as she repeats the axiom their pastor likes to say every Sunday.

"Does this house look happy to you? Do we look happy?" Quinn feels terribly guilty for a second for speaking to her mother like that, because her mother has never actively sought out to hurt her. Then again, she reasons, she hasn't done anything to actively protect her, either. And at that moment Quinn realizes that the passionate anger flying up wildly inside of her- anger at her parents, at her grandmother, at God- is just so strong that she thinks if someone put a gun in her hand, she would soon be whisked off to the police station and charged with a triple homicide.  
"We were happy, until your devil of a friend ruined it all!" Nana shouts in her feeble old woman voice, but it sounds more terrifying to Quinn than her father's loud and masculine one.

"Please _stop_ bringing Rachel into all of this! She didn't do anything to hurt me or corrupt me or _anything_ like that; she just – "

"You're pregnant." Her mother's words cut her off, force a silence into a room that so wants to be engulfed in screams. The unsettling peace stays for just a moment before Andrea _explodes. _She absolutely _explodes._ "HOW COULD YOU DO SUCH A THING!" The normally passive woman lets out a hellish scream, something almost primal, as she picks up her plate and launches it directly at Quinn's head. The girl still retains her cheerleading reflexes, so she ducks just in time to hear the porcelain disc shatter into tiny little pieces all over the wall, food dripping from the white paint and onto the hardwood floor. Quinn can't shake the symbolism from her mind, as though she interprets this as a representation of the metaphoric blood that's about to be shed as her mother rampages toward her.

Quinn tries to duck out of the way of her mother's needy hands grasping at her and (it appears) trying to rip every shred of clothing right off her daughter just so that she tear away her skin and pull the little fetus right out to make sure that it's real. Jumping to the right, the teenager slams her shoulder hard into the wall, but it knocks her mother off balance so that she can escape from behind the table and run. She doesn't get very far, however, before her father ropes her into him, burying her body in his arms.

"STOP! Both of you, stop right this instant!" He turns to Quinn but then falters because he has no idea what to say to the girl trembling in his arms. For one split second, he remembers her as a little girl, dancing in the church and catching fireflies after dark and smiling at every tiny wonder. She becomes his little Quinn again, and he doesn't think he can do this, but he knows that God must be trying him right now and he mustn't back down. So he releases Quinn, and he looks just a little to the left of her as speaks because he's fairly certain that he'll break down if he stares into her watery hazel eyes. "I hope you don't think that this family can, in all fairness, provide you with support over this baby. What you have done is a horrible sin, and I will not support a sinner."

In that moment, with all of their eyes on her, Quinn comes to a realization that nearly reduces her into a puddle of goo on the floor: her family doesn't love her. Not really, not deep down. If they did, they'd all be crying and hugging her, telling her that things would work out eventually and that they would always be there for her. But that's not happening. Not in the least. "Fine! Clearly you don't want me here, so I'll just go!"

"Not so fast, dearie," her grandmother chimes in from her spot at the table. "You best not be going to that Rachel girl's house; she's nothing more than a little slut doing the devil's work!"

To someone not well-versed in Nana's rantings, that insult might not be all that horrible. But Quinn knows that her grandmother only brings sluts and devils into sentences about people she completely detests and thinks that the world would be better off without. On top of all the abuse that she has been subjected to tonight, Quinn cannot take one more blow to the girl who has come to mean so much to her, who has changed her for the better, who has _fixed_ her. And she likes to think that Rachel would be proud of her for once standing up for something she actually believes in instead of just agreeing with the masses. "Rachel is a better person than any of you sitting right here!"

"She can't be," Nana points out. "She's not a Catholic."

"Who cares if she's a Catholic! She's nice and supportive and she cares about me more than any of you do! She's a better girlfriend than Finn was a boyfriend, and she treats me like I'm the most important person in her life! So who _cares_ if she's a Catholic, because she acts like one! A lot more than you are right now!" Her chest heaves as she leans down right in her grandmother's face, for once in her life intimidating the old woman. The rush of power she feels at finally having bested this woman who has run her life for so long gives her a high that she's sure nothing can compete with.

"_Girlfriend_?" her mother's voice comes out in a whisper. "You're dating a _girl_? It's not bad enough to just be pregnant these days, is it? Now you have to turn into a _dyke_, too!"

Quinn's high disappears and the sneer comes of her face and she feels like she might implode; she hadn't meant to say anything about Rachel or their relationship, but it does lend a certain finality to her time in her childhood home (because Quinn knows that this is the last dinner she'll be eating here for a while, if not ever) to out with no secrets left to be discovered. At the same time, though, her mother's use of such an offensive term crushes any resolves of strength she still has left. Water flows freely from her eyes and they start to turn red as her cheeks begin to shine.

"Get out of this house right now." Her father speaks, but he's not looking at her.

"Dad, I'm your daughter...you can't just kick me out."

"I have no daughter."

Quinn runs from the kitchen and doesn't look back.

The familiarly dorky doorbell echoes throughout the Berry house at around 7:15 when Rachel is in the bathroom and her dads are shouting at her to get back in the living room because "Jeopardy" has come back from its commercial break. Danny groans at the intrusion, but figures he should go up and get it. Most people don't ring doorbells at 7:15 at night, so maybe something's wrong.

"Hurry up!" James yells from the living room. "One of the categories is about birds!" Even though he's an accountant for a living, Danny has always been fascinated by bird-watching.

Danny opens the door, smile still firmly in place when he sees a tear-stricken Quinn Fabray on his front stoop. Her mouth opens and closes like she so desperately wants to say something but there's no words left in her brain. So she just throws herself into Danny, wrapping her arms around his waist and crying all over his cotton T-shirt. As horrible as it may seem to say, Quinn feels so much more at home in Danny's arms than she did in her own father's just a few minutes ago. She wets his shirt with her tears and barely even notices as he shuts the door to lead her into the house.

"Who is that? Sounds like- oh." James gets up from the couch when he sees what's going on, hurrying into the kitchen to find his daughter. "Rachel, Quinn's here."

Rachel nearly drops the cup in her hand. She sent Quinn a text right when she got home and when she received no reply, she grew worried. It turns out that her worries are unfortunately relevant, so she rushes into the living room where her dad has her trembling girlfriend encased in his arms. She can't believe how lucky she is to have such wonderful fathers. "Quinn...it's me." Rachel puts her finger under her girlfriend's chin to lift it, and Danny releases his hold on her ever so slightly. Once she has her gaze locked in on hazel eyes so sad it feels like they could swallow her whole, the singer whispers to her, "It's me, Quinn. You're safe now. You're safe here."

Danny passes his daughter's girlfriend off to her, knowing that he can trust the two of them to keep their hands to themselves, and also aware that Quinn really needs her right now. There is no other way to put it, he knows, because he remembers feeling this way when his own parents told him they were disgusted by his presence and wanted him gone. He had cried to James all night long in the backseat of his car just a block down the street from his house because he couldn't handle an entire car ride to James' house without the physical comfort of his then boyfriend's arms. So much time has passed since then, and it breaks his heart to see that the world hasn't changed so drastically that such tragic scenes can be eliminated.

Rachel sings to Quinn after she's helped her to get undressed. For her part, Rachel didn't blush or hesitate as she removed Quinn's shirt from her shoulders, her pants from her legs. She treated the entire situation with a sort of aloofness that made Quinn feel comfortable enough to collapse into the shorter girl wearing nothing but her bra and panties. Rachel just rubbed her hands up and down Quinn's smooth back until she calmed down to the point where she could be coerced into some of Rachel's pajamas. The shirt covers her stomach because it used to belong to James, but due to their height difference a couple of inches of Quinn's ankles are still visible with the pants on. For some reason, she becomes horribly self-conscious about it and jumps into the bed and under the covers to hide as soon as possible.

She feels Rachel slide in next to her but more prominently she feels the golden cross of her necklace poking at her chest because of how she's positioned. Suddenly, Quinn doesn't want to wear the cross anymore because of what it means to her and the circumstances she got it under. The chain slides roughly off her neck and she throws it angrily at the walls of Rachel's bedroom. Gold connects with pink, bouncing lightly onto the carpet. Quinn stares at for a moment, and then she begins to cry again.

"Why did you just do that?" her girlfriend asks quietly, moving so that her front molds against Quinn's back, a hand resting on her shoulder. Quinn marvels at how nice it is to have someone smaller than herself pressed against her. With Finn, it felt like she was drowning in his hulking form, but Rachel's tiny frame both comforts her and gives her a sense of power.

She figures that she should tell Rachel the story of the cross, because the singer has been so patient tonight and not pressed her about why she's come over, crying and broken. "When I was eight, I had my First Communion. It was very sacred to my parents and my grandmother, as it was the first year she had come to live with us. Afterward, they gave me that necklace and told me it was a symbol of God's love for me and my devotion to the Catholic church. But now..." Quinn moves her eyes to the cross lying almost sacrilegiously on the carpet. Rachel moves her hand up and down Quinn shoulder peacefully. "There is no love within those walls. No more love for me."

Quinn cries herself to sleep, grieving for lost loves, as she is held by someone who only lets one solitary tear drip from her eye.

The next morning at breakfast Quinn tells Rachel and her fathers the entire story of why she ended up on their doorstep last night.

James and Danny offer her their home for as long as she needs it, and she hugs them both. But she doesn't cry because this is happy and sweet and her last memories of tears have been of depressing things best left forgotten.

When she arrives at the Berrys' after school that day with Rachel in tow, the first thing she does is make a mad dash for the bathroom. Pregnancy has been seriously affecting her bladder and she doesn't like it.

Quinn finds a little jewelry box sitting on top of the toilet when she goes in, a little jewelry box with her name on it. Curious, she picks it up, opens it, and nearly dies of shock. It's a necklace inside, a sterling silver one with a thin cross on a chain. There's not much difference between this and her old one, save for the thickness and the color. A cross is still a cross.

And underneath the cross, there's a note, written in a handwriting that isn't Rachel's so Quinn figures it must be one of her dad's. It says, simply, "God loves you, Quinn, more than you know."

She puts the necklace on, stares at herself in the mirror.

She touches the pendant, feels the cool metal against her warm hands.

She cries, smiles because she realizes that maybe, against all odds, she _is _loved.


	5. Thanksgiving Part I

"Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

"What do you pray about?"

Quinn turns away from the windowsill, but doesn't unclasp her hands or get off her knees. She looks at the floor of Rachel's bedroom to avoid looking at girl in question, suddenly embarrassed by her very open display of religion. Every night since Veterans' Day, she's come to kneel at the window and stare out at the moon and mutter under her breath for a couple of minutes. Rachel though that she was going crazy for the first few nights, speaking to herself at odd hours. Then she figured out that the other girl was praying and stayed silent during that time. The singer let it go for the past two weeks because she feels like she might disrupt the delicate balance that is holding together Quinn's world, cut the single thread that stops the tapestry from unraveling.

"I'm not making fun of you or anything," Rachel amends, making sure that Quinn knows she's not trying to offend her. "I'm just genuinely interested. I want to know what you talk to God about every night. You know what?"

"What?" Quinn's pretty sure that her entire face has taken on a red hue and she turns back to the window. The moon's beams beat down her with the warmth of the sun, and she wishes that Rachel wouldn't care about this so much. She knows that she shouldn't be ashamed about talking to God, but somehow allowing anyone to enter into her most private thoughts is kind of nerve-wracking. Because in the end, that's what this is. Quinn lays everything out on the line when she prays since there's no one to judge, just God to let her know that it's all OK.

"Quinn...will you show me?" Rachel has already assumed the position right next to Quinn, knees to the carpet and elbows to the wood. "I want to know."

Momentarily thrown, her girlfriend takes a second to collect her thoughts before responding. "Isn't this against your belief system or something?"

Rachel shrugs. "Not really."

"Not really?" A shake of the head. "Rachel, hate to break it to you honey, but you're _Jewish_."

"We're not very strictly Jewish; we don't go to temple, except on the highest holy days. We don't follow any of the diet restrictions or anything like that. For my dads and me, it is more of a cultural connection a than religious one," she explains. "I think that Yahweh can forgive me for my dabble in Christianity."

Quinn just stares at Rachel, not really sure how to show her this short of simply acting it out. "Well, I've never explained it to anyone before, so I don't really know how."

"Just do it like you do normally," the girl sitting next to her insists. Always prepared, Rachel has copied Quinn's position exactly, all the way down to the loose way her hands are held together. "I'll pick it up as you go along."

"OK." Quinn nods shakily; she can do this. "When I was little, my parents used to make me pray the rosary and all these other Catholic prayers that talked about our love for God and how we must praise His holy name and stuff like that. I did those, but it never seemed right to me. Then one night, I stumbled in on my dad, watching the news and some giant list of names scroll down as a guy read them all off. I realized later that it was the names of the people killed in September 11th. Anyway, after every name that went up, he said a prayer for their families. Every single one." Trembling breath leaves her soft lips and Rachel wants to reach over and touch her, but she knows that they're supposed to be praying, not comforting. "I waited for the whole list to go by before I crawled out from my hiding spot to ask him why he did that. I'd never really heard people pray _for_ something, you know? It was always about giving thanks and praising God. My dad said that it was alright to pray for other people who need God's love. So after my parents finished supervising my prayers, I would go over to the window and ask God to fix the wars and the poverty and the disease, and I would ask that He help other people understand that it's important to pray for these things. If it's just one person, there's not much impact. If everyone around the world prayed for peace every night, I thought that maybe it would make some sort of difference. Stupid, I know, but – "

"It's not stupid, Quinn," Rachel interrupts. "It's sweet and nice, and I really think that those are the kinds of things God would want you to pray about."

The blonde bows her head sheepishly, not entirely believing her girlfriend's sentiments. She's not used to being proud of her Christianity. The feeling engulfs her, wrapping her in a warm hug through the cold night. It's almost like God is sitting there in the room, pleased with what his little pregnant, lesbian, glee clubbing, ex-cheerleader has become. She shivers, smiles. "You could help, if you wanted. Starving children and brave soldiers could always use some help."

Rachel has never prayed before in her life, except at temple, but then those prayers were more for the custom than for the fact that she actually believed in them. She has never, ever wanted to condone such behavior, mostly because it seems pointless to her to be sitting on her knees when she could be out there doing something about it. But it clearly means so much to Quinn to say these things, and maybe it's just as much for her own benefit as it is for those she prays for. Rachel doesn't understand it at all, but she'll do it. "Alright. Why don't you go first, because I really don't know what to say."

"No problem." Truthfully, Quinn's a little afraid that she'll screw up royally in front of God and Rachel, the two most important people in her life – well, her little girl definitely falls into that hierarchy somewhere. "Hi, God. Not much has happened recently, but I think that's a good thing because there's been too much going on in my life to keep up with. It's probably made things easier on the Berrys, too, and I like that because they've been so good to me. Sometimes I feel like a burden to them because I'm an extra mouth to feed, but think that they really do like having me around. I ask that You bless them to thank them for all the nice things they've done for me. Even though I don't know if they'd appreciate that, because they're Jewish. I hope that my baby is OK, and that she starts kicking soon. I know it's not supposed to happen for a little while longer, but I'd like to know that she's real. I also ask for guidance on whether or not to keep her because I think that will be the hardest decision I ever have to make." Quinn pauses to take a breath, leaving Rachel to marvel at how intense she looks right now. Her eyes remain closed, head bowed to the moon, as she collects her thoughts and her words to send straight to God. The way that Quinn seems to really be _invested _in this – how she really has faith that her words will reach someone in the stars – almost stirs up feelings of jealousy in the very lapsed Jew. Somehow there seems to be a spiritual portion of life that she's missing out on. There's not much more time to focus on that, however, because Quinn has started talking again.

"I ask for You to end the war in Iraq as quickly as possibly, but without making the efforts of the past few years worthless. I ask for You to take drugs and crime off the streets and for everyone to have a chance at life. I ask for You to take Artie out of his wheelchair, and to put Rachel on Broadway someday." Quinn pauses here, as though that part of her prayer maybe awkward, but Rachel senses that she asks for those things every night. "I ask for all of the glee kids to have the strength to win sectionals, regionals, nationals. And finally I ask that You never make anyone go through what I went through two weeks ago. No one. Amen." The ex-cheerleader inclines her head a little more before unclasping her hands and looking in the brunette's eyes.

"I...don't think I can follow that," Rachel mumbles, slightly awed by Quinn's connection to religion. "I never knew you...believed so strongly."

Quinn stands up, eyes watery. "Some days, it's nice to have something to believe in." She moves to the bed, tired from the long prayer. By her standards, that's about the average length, but she knows that most people's prayers are much shorter and more concise, tending to leave things out. Quinn thinks that this is wrong, because God knows what's going on in their heads and they really shouldn't conceal the truth when talking to Him. She certainly doesn't.

Pondering her girlfriend's statement, Rachel slips into bed with her and they cuddle closely, Quinn wrapped under Rachel's arm and head resting on her chest. "Sing me a song," she mutters tiredly, eyelids closing as she speaks.

On nights when Quinn feels particularly down, Rachel has taken to singing her to sleep. Quinn likes to think of it as a bedtime story, only with song instead of prose. It makes her think of old times when musicians traveled from town to town reciting verses to the melodies of lutes, and for some reason that relaxes her. "What do you want to hear about tonight?" Rachel learned to let Quinn pick the topic after she mistakenly read the girl's mood one night and sent her into a fresh batch of tears.

"Sing to me about God," she whispers into Rachel's pink pajama top, afraid.

This causes a slight panic for the established singer because she isn't exactly up to date on her religious music, but she comes up with something. "OK. I don't really know how godly this is, though it has always held a very beautiful and spiritual meaning for me." Quinn nods, accepting her offering.

Quiet steadies itself momentarily in the room, moonlight blazing beams across the sheets. They huddle in a warm bed the night before Thanksgiving, and Quinn once again feels that cool breeze of God sweep through as Rachel opens her mouth and her crystalline vibrato echoes throughout the room.

"_Don't have the inclination to look back on any mistake,  
Like Cain, I now behold this chain of events that I must break.  
In the fury of the moment I can see the Master's hand  
In every leaf that trembles, in every grain of sand._"

The Berrys have the most complicated, well-laid, all-around _insane_ Thanksgiving plans Quinn has ever seen. When she comes down for breakfast the next morning after a very refreshing shower, she finds Danny scraping eggs out of a pan and out to plates, which occurs every weekend and never ceases to fill Quinn's stomach with the warm and fuzzy feelings that soup generally elicits. But in addition to the normal breakfast, papers cover the dining room table with Rachel and James studying them like generals planning a war strategy. Quinn doesn't understand why there are gold stars and silver stars and smiley faces connected by red and green and blue lines crisscrossing through little boxes. It makes no sense at all, though Rachel and James seem to know what they're doing. James holds one of the bargain magazines that comes in the newspaper and reads it to Rachel, who puts stickers and draws lines in different boxes based on what he's saying.

Noting her confusion, Danny walks over, smirking. "They're making a road map for Black Friday," he explains. "By tonight at seven it will be digitized and down-sized, stuffed into tiny little notebooks ready to go."

"All of this is for _shopping_?" Quinn asks, bewildered.

Danny laughs and watches his husband and daughter intensely working. "The only celebration we do today is watch 'Frosty the Snowman' at seven o'clock sharp. Tomorrow, James and Rachel will wake up early and hit up every store within, oh, I think it's twenty miles."

"Are they crazy?" the blonde wonders incredulously.

The tall man chuckles kindly, returning to the giant omelet he left simmering on the stove. Like a reflex, Quinn pulls out four plates from the cupboard and grabs utensils from a drawer. She has really been living up to the phrase "earn her keep," and neither James nor Danny have the heart to discourage her when it seems as though she'll combust if she's not being useful. This hasn't discouraged Rachel, though, and the girls have been sullenly silent over dinner more than once. They always make up by dessert, though, the worst fight lasting two days over Quinn emptying the dishwasher. But eventually, after locking themselves in Rachel's room for two hours, they agree to split up the chores. Of course, by dinner that night, Rachel had already plotted out their entire schedule for the next three months.

"If they're crazy, then James has been since college," Danny replies. "Ever since I met him this has been his Thanksgiving tradition. I went a handful of times with him in grad school, but never really got into it. He sacrificed the tradition for the first five years of Rachel's life so that he could be here and keep an eye on her while I cooked. Then he started going out by himself, and Rachel and I would cook. We always had cornbread ready for him when he got home. And then when Rachel turned twelve, we decided that she was old enough to accompany him on his trips. They bonded over it instantly, and it's morphed into a commando operation any FBI agent would be proud of. Have you ever been, Quinn?"

Smiling at the utter dorkiness of her girlfriend and her daddy, she answers, "Once, when I was ten. My nana just _had_ to have the sweaters they put on sale at some store- I can't even remember now- and she dragged me along. I got lost and she didn't even bother to come look for me until she'd bought the sweaters an hour or so later. It was horrible."

"Well, what about your other traditions, hm? You must have some fun over there." Danny's large hand settles comfortingly on Quinn's slight shoulder, reminding her briefly of Finn. But Danny feels strong, secure, safe, whereas Finn always felt a little awkward and rough around the edges. Danny feels so much more like a daddy.

"Every year my dad's brothers and their wives and kids come down," she explains. "The boys all watch the football game while the girls cook."

Danny frowns and they transport the eggs to the island. Black Friday plans still occupy the table (and Danny knows they will until tomorrow), so they'll have to eat standing up. "That doesn't really seem fair."

"It's not." Quinn shakes her head, reminiscing with a tiny smile. "But before my grandmother came to live with us, my dad used to let me sneak in and sit on his lap and teach me all about football. She ruined everything, though; she always does."

"She can't anymore," Danny whispers. "We won't allow it." He squeezes her shoulders, and Quinn feels at home.

The doorbell rings halfway through breakfast, at promptly 9:28. James goes to answer it, seeing as how he's the closest to the door. They're all standing up already because daddy and daughter haven't finished with their world domination plot – or at least that's what it looks like to Quinn. At any rate, "Cabaret" rings cheerily through the house, which causes Quinn, Rachel, and James to erupt into the chorus while Danny wonders how James ever conned him into getting the inane thing.

James opens the door to find a well-dressed man, his long brown coat and matching hat that makes James think he might be lost on his way to church. "How can I help you?"

"I'm, uh, Mr. Fabray. Quinn's dad." He's awkward and shy and not handling this well at all, but once he says his name, James understands exactly why. "I was wondering if I could see my daughter?"

"I have to make sure that it's alright with her first," James mutters, trying to sound cold though not quite managing it. If the man has shown up on their doorstep, he must be at least willing to try to remedy the pain he's wrought upon his daughter.

The kitchen's still buzzing with happiness when James returns, seriousness etched upon his usually upbeat face. Danny notices first and he figures out from James' darting eyes what's going on. "Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

"Your father's at the door."

Quinn's grin slides off her face and her knees nearly give out from under her. She turns to James, just to make sure that this isn't some ill-timed, ill-conceived practical joke. His face betrays no laughter and she has no choice but to believe him. "Just him?"

"Just him. He'd like to speak with you. You don't hav – "

"I want to." Determined and dogged, she leaves plate on the counter as she attempts to steady her feet. She wants to see him for this last time, just to yell like there's no tomorrow and put him through maybe a quarter of the barrage that he's put her through. It doesn't _matter_ how apologetic he is, because there is no forgiveness. Two weeks, and he thinks he can just waltz in here and win her back over? If he thinks that, he's _crazy_. This battle is one for the history books; Quinn Fabray is livid and not letting go.

The tension in the room is obvious as Quinn walks in unaccompanied to find her father awkwardly standing in the entrance to the Berry house looking oddly formal but with signs of wear. She notices that his hat is askew and wrinkles mar his normally perfectly pressed coat. He's wearing the purple tie, and Quinn has only ever seen him wear that to big corporate events where he has to impress a lot of people. It hurts her and empowers her, the fact that her father feels like he has to impress her. She takes a deep breath, wanting to be the first one to talk. There's not much hope for her if her begins the conversation. "Daddy, I want you to listen to me, and not interrupt. If you don't do that, I will get one of Rachel's dads to throw you right back out that door. After what you've put me through, you owe me. _You owe me_. Understand?" Quinn tries to keep her eyes dry by blinking a lot, but she decides that rapid blinking probably makes her look like a crazy person, and she'd rather look depressed and needy and like a little girl who just wants her father back than like a crazy person.

He bows his head, a sign she knows to mean that he's conceded defeat. Her grandmother has caused many of these looks in the past. "I do owe you, Quinn. I owe you that and much more."

Because of his apologetic demeanor, she's not sure if she can be angry at like she knows she needs to be. So much anger inside her system isn't good for her well-being or the baby's, and, horribly, it seems fairer to take it out on her own father than on any of the Berrys. "Yes, you do owe me. You kicked me out of my own house for one little slip up, one mistake! You're supposed to be my dad, and I didn't expect you to be thrilled about the news, but you could have at least given me a roof over my head! Thank God I have Rachel, because clearly I'm not good enough for you or Mom or Nana! Or Nana..." Quinn's about to hit her stride now, incensed and pumped straight through with adrenaline. She's amazed that she's managed to keep herself from physically lashing out. "I can't believe how you've let that woman run all of our lives! I used to _love_ going to church before she came, and then she made us into Catholics! We're _Lutherans_, for Heaven's sake! I used to _love_ spending time with you and Mom before she got here! She ruined everything, Dad! Can't you see that? She's a horrible woman, and she took away everything from me! She took away my real education for two years, took away my church, took away my mom and dad, and took away my self-confidence! I just want to come home more than anything; I want a family again!" During this entire shouting match, Quinn has moved forward so that she stands just steps away from her father, eyes leveled directly at his chest. And she can't hold it in anymore, the last dredges of self-control stopping her from ripping her father to shreds. She lashes out, thumping her tiny fists against his chest to punctuate each word she speaks. "Why – can't – we – be – a – family!" Her eyes lift up to meet his, watery and packed with emotion. "I just want my daddy back! That's all; a family!" She's becoming violently hysterical now, hitting him and spewing tears all across the living room. So he lets himself forget that he's raised a pregnant lesbian teenager and that God may never forgive him for that, and remembers that she's his daughter and he's supposed to be there for her. Awkwardly, shakily, he wraps his arms around her and hugs her tight as though willing her to cease her intense swings.

And she does. How could she not? Quinn just sobs into her father's chest for the longest time, not willing to give up the fight but knowing she's already lost. Robert hardly knows what to do with his daughter right now, because conflict wells within him, so he cannot imagine how she must be feeling. He knows that he doesn't deserve her forgiveness this easily but he can't bring himself to push her away if it hurts her so much. The dilemma is solved momentarily by Quinn herself as she loosens herself from her father's grip and steps back, wiping tears from her eyes and sniffling. She's only put a couple of feet between them, but it might as well be an ocean.

"I...I'm sorry. Not for the shouting, because you deserved that, but for the hug. I don't know what came over me," Quinn mumbles, her head bowed and eyes darting.

Robert sighs sadly and asks very cautiously, "Are you finished yet?"

What should be a simple question produces minutes of elongated silence in the sparse living room. Quinn chews on her bottom lip to nearly the point of drawing blood while Robert scuffs his shoes against the floor with his arms crossed. She _so_ wants to believe that everything is perfect at home and that she will open the door and fall into her mother's loving arms. That's a fantasy, though, and it would do no one a favor. Somehow, she has to get this through her father's head without damaging the albeit fledgling progress they've made in the past few minutes. "Dad...I'm not ready to forgive you or Mom. I am never forgiving Nana, and it will be better for all of us if you just accept that. If I forgave you this early, then it would be like going back to the appearance we've been keeping up over all these years. I really hate that, Dad. You have no idea how much. That's not what I want out of my life and I can't go back to living that way. So for now, I can't come home. Dad, I just can't..." Water fills Quinn's eyes and she does not cry because she cannot afford weakness here.

"I understand," he says, inhaling through his nostrils like he used to do when he helped Quinn with her math homework. "But, well, I was just hoping...that maybe you could come over just for today. It's Thanksgiving, and I _am_ very thankful to have you as a daughter, even though I haven't been acting that way. Just for a couple of hours, Quinn, please...we all miss you. Unless of course the Berrys have plans today. I know that they've acted much more like a family to you than we have, as embarrassing as that is to admit."

"Dad." Quinn cuts him off not because she has something to say, but because she needs a moment to think. On one hand, her dad has that look in his eyes that he had all the time when she was younger on their father-daughter outings, whether it be to baseball games or dance halls or parks or a tent under the stars. She desperately wants to forgive him, but that would be so unfair to do right now. It's too early. Maybe going to the house for one holiday wouldn't be so bad. "OK. But just for today. I'm coming back here early because the Berrys watch 'Frosty the Snowman' every year, and I do want to be part of their traditions, too." Quinn leaves out that she hopes their traditions will morph into her traditions as well. Every night, except for the night that she prayed in front of Rachel because that would have been awkward, she prays that she and Rachel will continue to be friends for the rest of their lives, if not continue their more than platonic relationship. It just seems like she can't live without the driven singer.

Robert nods slightly. "Are you sure they won't mind me taking you away – "

"They celebrate Thanksgiving tomorrow," Quinn interjects quickly.

Her father just shakes his head smiles, which earns one from his daughter. "I'll tell you on the way over."

Stepping into her own house should not be a thoroughly terrifying experience. Neither should seeing her mother or the prospect of a family Thanksgiving. But Quinn can't stop hyperventilating as she approaches the familiar oak door of her home, her father's hand resting gently on her shoulder. On the ride over, he explained that her cousins and aunts and uncles thought she'd just spent the night at a friend's house, not that she was coming back from a stint of being kicked out. He also said that while her mother and his mother both would rather she not, he was prepared for her to be honest about both her baby and her relationship with Rachel. Quinn noticed that his eyes darted anywhere but her face as he said this, signaling that he wasn't entirely comfortable with either of those things. But at least he was _trying._ That certainly counts for something, giving her pause about how liberal she'll be about revealing the truth.

"Wear that yellow dress you bought for glee club," Robert tells Quinn as they get out of the car and trudge up the sidewalk (they left Quinn's car at the Berrys in a moment of hurried goodbyes). "It looks good on you and no one can see the, um, _bump_."

Quinn's stomach churns at his suggestion and she wonders what she's gotten herself into. She remembers Rachel's pleading eyes in her mind just seconds before they left, knowing that this meeting could only end in heartbreak. And sure, Quinn knows that, too, but there's something about the warmth her father is giving off that makes her reconsider. In retrospect, she probably should have just turned him down. Her presence will ultimately end up ruining the Fabray Thanksgiving anyway. "Yeah, sure Dad; good thinking." The pathway ends quickly in front of her and she shoves through the door in hopes of escaping to the confines of her room before running into someone.

But this dream is quickly shattered because as soon as she enters the house she bumps into her littlest cousin Emily, who shouts very loudly, "Quinn!" Being a grand total of three years old, Emily can only wrap herself around Quinn's legs, though she does so tightly and with surprising strength. Something weird and maternal and all-around _freaky_ clicks in the blonde as Emily holds onto her for what seems like dear life: in a few years, it will be her daughter hugging her legs and sitting on her hips and drinking from sippy cups at her kitchen table. The moment is all too much for Quinn to handle so she mutters, "I have to go and change," wrestling away from Emily just as the rest of the family appears from the living room.

She tries not to cry as she strips off her comfy sweatpants and worn T-shirt, shivering in her underwear. The panties are polka-dotted and old because Quinn remembers wearing them on the first day of high school for good luck; then she was just a Cheerios hopeful with goals to restart the Celibacy Club and land a socially acceptable boyfriend. She thinks it's ironic that her bra belongs to Rachel, a testament to how far she's come since that wide-eyed first day of freshman year (not that they've been doing anything dirty, but with all those clothes in one place it's easy to mix up undergarments; plus, despite all her argyle, Rachel has good taste in bras).

The yellow sundress hangs in front of her body as she stares in the mirror, not ready to put it on. Getting dressed would mean that she has to go downstairs and she is not ready to face that lit powder keg just yet. So she spins it around in the comforting light of her mirror, sunlight streaming through the windows. Thin cotton dances across bare skin, blonde hair whips through the quiet room and it's all spinning faster while slowing down at the same time. Quinn's head is a little bit fuzzy from all the spinning, but through it all, she's smiling.

Everyone's happy to see Quinn in her pretty yellow dress coming down the stairs, hair back in a headband and practiced smile sitting pretty on her lips. She hugs her uncles first (big and strong brutes of men equally as religious as her father), then her aunts (dainty little women with pearl earrings and red lipstick much too bright for their complexions), and finally her cousins (a mismatched band of five kids ranging from three to eighteen, all looking uncomfortable in itchy sweaters and puritanical dresses). Her oldest cousin Joey gives her the longest hug and says that he's looking forward to talking with her after such a long absence. Quinn and Joey have an oddly close relationship for a set of cousins, keeping up with each other through near daily e-mails, phone calls, IM's, and Skype conversations. Because she doesn't feel as though she could lie to him, Quinn has been avoiding his attempts at communication for the past few weeks.

Sure enough, Joey pulls her aside about ten minutes later. The game hasn't started yet, so he's not obligated to watch a sport he couldn't care less about. This gives him free will to pull Quinn out of the kitchen where she's already got on a pink apron, slicing away at vegetables with a vengeance. "Can I borrow Quinn for a second?" he asks his aunt.

Andrea looks around wildly as though she's just remembered her daughter exists, while Nana Fabray reacts with a disgruntled snort. "Sure, Joey. Don't stay out too long, though, or we'll be short on veggies."

"I think some of us would be happy without those," Joey shoots back with a charming smile. Quinn resists the strong urge to upchuck at her mother's false happiness, at how she seems pleased with her daughter's presence. Escaping all of these falsehoods turned out to be a very liberating thing for the ex-cheerleader, and she's not accustomed to the performance her family puts on anymore.

Ever the chivalrous gentleman, Joey offers her his arm as she throws her apron on the counter and they head out into the leaf-covered backyard. "Let's go for a walk," he suggests, but his tone shows he means this as an order,

So they walk down the empty streets of Quinn's neighborhood, their scenic background clusters of McMansions broken apart by the occasional tree or bush. "Cigarette?" Joey offers, pulling a pack from the pocket of his jacket.

"Since when do you smoke?" she replies in a surprised voice. Joey has always been just as clean cut and all American as she has. Then again, she laments, she isn't exactly any of those things anymore.

"Since college. It's different down there. Wild. So. You want one?"

He's already lit his own and taken a draft when Quinn flippantly answers, "Can't. It's not good for the baby."

Joey drops his still burning light, stamps it out with the heel of his shoe. Brown eyes grow wide and bore into her own, smoke from his breath causing her to tear up. "Shit! You're _pregnant_?"

"Yeah; I am." Quinn didn't mean to spill the beans this way, but she's so used to everyone knowing that she's pregnant that it just slipped out. Joey's relationship means a lot to her, and she won't be able to handle it if he's too freaked out. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean to tell you like this."

"It's cool," he says, but it's shaky, like he doesn't think this is right at all. "I know a couple of girls who have been, um, knocked up. So yeah. Don't worry about it. I won't say a word. Fuck. Do your parents know?"

"Everybody knows." Her words come out with a derisive snort, callous and unfeeling. There's been too much feeling in the past two weeks for her anyway. "They kicked me out; wanted me back for Thanksgiving."

"Wow..." Joey trails off, staring at the blacktop stretching out in front of him. "Maybe we should go back. Your mom said she needed you chopping up veggies."

Quinn doesn't argue because she understands that no amount of arguing will ever fix this broken relationship. She should really get to keeping a body count.

For a while, Quinn honestly believes that Joey isn't going to mention a thing to anybody. Not that she explicitly asked him to keep quiet, but it's not the way that she'd like to inform her extended family about the baby girl hiding away in her stomach. Ruining Thanksgiving does not rank very high on the list of things Quinn would like to do with her life.

As they head back to the house, Joey puts out his half-smoked cigarette in one of the dying plants on their back patio, covering it with dirt. Quinn sniffs up her nose and stares at him. "You know that's not biodegradable, Joey. And it's my mom's perennials; they have to grow back next year."

Joey just shrugs and Quinn can't possibly fathom what this news has done to him. He's always been such a gentleman to her and while it would be easy to believe that college has changed him, Quinn knows that it's her new-found biological condition. He slides open the door and puts on a smile, immediately chatting up Andrea and tickling Emily's sides. Quinn thinks that the false facade trait must run in the family, which is certainly unfortunate. She sighs and just resigns herself to her veggie duty as she has every year for the past eight years without consequence. No one even notices her until Emily breaks free of Joey's grasp and cuddles around Quinn's legs. The boy exits to watch the game and Quinn's aunts and mother fawn over what a sweetheart he turned out to be.

"Can I help you, Quinnie?" Emily uses her little pet name for her "favoritest" cousin, tugs on her dress to get attention. "I wanna cut."

Smiling, Quinn replies, "Maybe not cut them up, sweetie, but you can put them in the pot for me. How's that?" She reaches under the kitchen sink and pulls out a stool which little Emily gladly stands on.

"Why can't I cut?" Emily grumbles but contentedly places Quinn's already cut vegetables in the pot.

"You're much too indispensable." Aware that her little cousin has no idea what that means, the pregnant teenager places a kiss on the girl's cheek, causing her to giggle and drop her handful of onion slices onto the counter. Quinn thinks that maybe, just maybe, she could get used to this.

Until her mother intervenes, of course. "Quinn! Clean those up! We can't waste anything." Quinn rolls her eyes, severely pissed, but she puts on a happy face for poor innocent Emily. She presses a finger to her lips and fakes a giggle, and Emily forgets all about the remorse and sorrow knotted in her cousin's brow.

No problems arise during the football game, which Quinn is thankful for. Joey tries to charm his way into a couple of his father's beers but that's about the most exciting occurrence of the day so far, other than the supreme isolation Quinn feels from her mother and grandmother. Robert can't really do anything for her because he's traditionally obligated to have his butt in a chair in front of the television for four hours. Occasionally, he'll sneak a glance into the kitchen or stop by for a beer just to make sure his daughter's doing alright. This makes her appreciate him more than he probably knows.

However, by the time dinner rolls around, Quinn just _knows_ that something is going to happen. Joey's charming air dissipates as the time stretches on, and her father's worried glances grow more and more frequent. They make it through the salad and the soup with an amicable family atmosphere, all the women receiving compliments on their various efforts. Even Quinn gets one from Joey, who comments that her veggies are very aesthetically pleasing. Over the turkey, however, he grows quieter. Nana sips wine more frequently. Robert has his eyes focused almost entirely on her. Andrea has hers on her plate. Quinn's older cousins, aunts, and uncles all notice the shifting family dynamic occurring, a chilly winter frost setting in during autumn.

By dessert, Emily is the only one talking.

Stares flit across the table like bullets in a war and they're all caught in the crossfire with Quinn being the target. All gazes turn to her, eyes fixating ever so quickly on the perfect blonde cheerleader they all think that they know. But of course, it's not Quinn they should be focusing on; it's Joey. The tips of his ears grow red, slowly spreading to all of his face until his eyes look about ready to pop out of his head. Quinn's sneaking looks always land on him, becoming more and more petrified as his face grows redder and redder.

And then, finally, when Emily goes to sip her water, Joey breaks. He slams his glass hard on the table, earning him the attention of everyone sitting at the table. His mouth blubbers for a moment or two, opening and closing like a very confused frog. Until, at last – "Quinn's pregnant."

No one reacts at first. No one. Silence slices the air like white hot knifes on crackling skin. Quinn sinks slowly into her chair, and Andrea looks like she's between hysterical laughter and hysterical tears.

"Ooh! Am I gonna get a new baby cousin?" Emily breaks the air, her enthusiasm palpable and spreading to her parents and Quinn's father. "Is it a girl or a boy?"

Quinn smiles. She has never experienced such a sensation before, someone getting _really_ excited about her little baby. Sure, Rachel's dads have offered to help with all her expenses before and after the baby, even ready to help her secure a job at one of their offices when she ends up needing one. And Rachel herself reads and sings to the growing girl inside of her all the time, making sure to play Mozart and Beethoven and lots of composers that Quinn can't spell because leading experts are divided over whether or not it's good for the baby, and Rachel is not about to let her girlfriend take any unnecessary risks. But never have any of those three ever expressed the sheer amount of joy that Emily does right now, most likely due to the circumstances under which they learned about the pregnancy. But how Emily reacts produces an unexpected effect of happiness in Quinn that bubbles over her body in warmth. Screw everyone else at this damn table.

"It's a little girl, Emily," Quinn replies, trying to keep the emotion out of her eyes.

The tiniest Fabray claps her hands and wiggles in her chair, completely beside herself. "Yay! I'm gonna teach to be a princess, and play with Barbies, and – "

"No you're not, Emily, because Quinn is not keeping that girl." Andrea appears as though she's looking to break the nearly empty wine glass clutched beneath her white knuckles. With livid eyes and flared nostrils, her gravelly voice continues, "That baby is a disgrace to this family, and it has _no place in my home_."

"Well, apparently neither do I," Quinn mutters, which sets her mother off. She attempts to stand, but Robert grips her shoulder with too much force for her bony body to fight against.

Emily's father clears his throat loudly and they all shoot him daggers. "Well," he begins uncomfortably, "as important as this conversation is, I don't think it should ruin Thanksgiving – "

"Oh, hush, Alex," Nana says clearly from her chair, voice ringing like church bells in the heavy atmosphere. "Honestly, you never were the smartest."

At this the entire table falls silent and awkward. Joey finally understands exactly what he's done, the red receding from his face and replaced by pale white cheeks dotted with teardrops. He looks at Quinn, hoping to convey an apology, but she won't meet his eyes. There are too many people in her family seeking something from her – forgiveness, submission, perfection – but she has yet to find one of them who actually deserves it.

"You want your baby? Fine! Go shack up with that Jew! Have fun being a dyke!" Andrea screams with all the force in her lungs, so hard that she almost feels as if someone has knocked the wind out of her when all is said and done.

Quinn looses focus on everyone at the table but her mother and the name she has just been called. _Dyke_. As horrible as it may have been, for some reason, it clicked in Quinn's brain that it did accurately, if derogatorily, describe her sexuality. To be called such an offensive word, and to know with such certainty that a nicer version of it applied to her, gives her a surge of pride and confidence. It lets her know that when she walks out of this room, out of this house, out the door, _she will be the one with a heart on her sleeve and a halo around her head_. "You know what, Andrea?" The use of her mother's first name shocks them all, proclaiming a detachment, but in classic Fabray fashion none of them react. "It's _my_ body, and it's _my _baby, and will use it however the hell I want!"

"Language!" Andrea stands up sharply before Robert can grab her shoulder, but she's too late because Quinn's already grabbed a coat and she's halfway out the door.

It's not until Quinn is two and a half blocks from home that she remembers that her phone is in her backpack. At Rachel's house. She fiddles around desperately in the pockets of the coat, even though she knows she won't find anything. The coat itself is more of a windbreaker and next to useless in protecting her from the thirty below temperature outside, especially since she's wearing that thin yellow dress and ballet flats. She'll probably freeze to death before she can find the nearest pay phone to call Rachel and have someone pick her up.

"Need a lift?" comes a voice from the road. For a moment, Quinn's heart catches in her throat and everything she learned about how to avoid being kidnapped flies from her mind. For a moment, she is absolutely positive that this is the end.

Then she realizes that it's just her father, a sad smile on his face. This is almost as surprising to her as it would be find the guy from the _Texas Chainsaw Massacre_ sitting there instead. "Yeah, Dad, I would like that."

She gets in the passenger side, and everything becomes so awkward so quickly. But Quinn notices that her father has some tears shining off his cheeks in the moonlight. She reaches over the console to take his hand in hers, though neither of them move their eyes from the road. "Can we go to the Berrys'?"

Robert doesn't respond – not verbally, at least. He nods his head ever so slightly to indicate his acceptance of the plan. Knowing what his daughter has been through recently, he figures that the Berry household has probably become a sort of safe haven for her. He knows not to take that away. And even though it makes him shift awkwardly every time he thinks about it, he _knows_ that his daughter needs her girlfriend. It still feels strange to think that, and he wants to tell Quinn that though he may not understand, he accepts.

"Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

"I love you, too, Daddy."

When the now-comforting doorbell sings its melody, Quinn feels safe. She's under the yellow glow of a porch light, a nearly grown girl holding her father's hand.

Rachel opens the door and snatches Quinn's hand tightly, causing her to release her from her father's grip. In a strange way, Robert feels as though he's giving up his little girl, handing her over to someone with a more capable way of dealing with her. He watches them hold onto her each other with tears in his eyes until Danny and James come in, each lightly taking one of his shoulders. They lead him into the kitchen where the hot chocolate's already in mugs.

Quinn has forgotten what it's like to hug Rachel like this, with a desperation that borders on sociopathic. She never, ever, ever wants Rachel's warm body to be right next to hers, never ever ever wants those tan hands to do anything but rub her back and run through her hair.

It's not until Rachel's tiny, gentle lips kiss each tear away that Quinn realizes that she's crying. Rachel places one last, firm, reassuring kiss on Quinn's own lips, and the blonde feels herself relax a little.

"It's OK; you're safe," Rachel whispers, her hand cupping Quinn's blushing face. "You're home now."


End file.
